"The first time you made love with him you were drunk. You were drunk and he was drunk and it was a mess of laughter and clothes tangled around legs and socks still on. It was a mess of everything good. Months later you remember that night as vividly as if it were happening to you all over again. No matter how hard you try you cannot put that night out of your mind. Forever on repeat in the back of your mind, it haunts you. Reminds you of the loss you have suffered. Pounds that loss into your memory again and again and again until it leaves you black and blue. An endless repeat of the thing you cannot have, nor will ever have again. You wonder how long it will take for you to recover from it. You wish for and yet dread the day when you will wake up and it will be gone. When it will no longer exist, even as a faint sound. Closing your eyes you see it now. The way the sun hit his face as he looked down at you. The way he talked and the lilt in his voice, a far off accent slowly losing its way. His crooked jaw and the way he smiled at you like you were the only person he had ever seen. These things killed you and kept you alive at the same time. And in your house that is barely a home now, you keep to yourself. You sleep in and let the sun make patterns on your wall. You don’t keep track of the time anymore. You go to work, see friends when you can. Drink after dark. Turn the light off. Sleep. Sleep."
-Excerpt from “The California Trilogy” by Esperanza Friel (via passionnedenoir)
"If you’re not losing friends then you’re not growing up."