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seven/nine lives

Here's a toast to the living on the blonde side. Documenting the mild narcissism and nighttime wisdom of a little wise guy living on nine lives. Selected essays and fiction. 

Timea is a fiction writer, essayist, and social researcher. She is a doctoral candidate at the University of Oxford.

Peru

Peru

You’ve been lying dormant. I know. I can still smell you somewhere, around the ridges of my collarbone. It’s a scent that stays, a scent that remains — one that climbs up the nape of my neck.

Mountainous regions: clouded and thick. It’s not easy to breathe. The locals tend goats. I tend to the grass. It’s wet on my knees and feet. I pray to the empty universe for peace, something that simmers quietly inside. I came all up the way up here. Up up up here, far far far away from where we had met.

You shouldn’t come here anymore. You shouldn’t call for me anymore. You shouldn’t board trains and arrive in my dreams anymore. You need to leave, out the back door of my mind.

Mind

Mind

Mind

Mind it don’t hit your ass on the way out.

Other Women

Other Women