Noses deep in the syllabus, secretly sketching caricatures of professors engaged in obscenities; we became sisters. Sometimes I look in the mirror and mistake myself for you. I remember Billie Holiday mornings, hair soaked in the scent of cheap nicotine; worried about our mothers. I swoon back into time, a time when I could still embrace you in laughter or in tears. I miss you.
S.S. “Melisa” (via bervex)














