Before him, she was strewn about like confetti after a birthday party, constantly giving out kisses and pieces of herself like party favors. She loved to dance, and even more to drink. She loved the taste of vulnerability between her lips, and even more so the comfort of not belonging to anyone. She treated one-night-encounters as momentary, short chapters in her life. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate those men, she did. She found muse in how one tried to explain how YSL and Saint-Laurent were the same, as though he knew more than she. She was thrilled in how another taught her about Duke Ellington and the birth of jazz.
Oftentimes, I feel like I have known her all my life. Spitting about, leaving glimpses of her in everyone she meets, and never feeling attached to a single soul. Sometimes, I think she loved the pace of it all more than anything else. Dressing up and flirting with the bartender before being swept off her feet on her way to the bathroom.
How lucky am I to know someone like that? So unstuck to a single version of herself that she just loves so deeply in the folds.










