I say Love isn’t real, but I kid. Love is the only real thing. And I believe we can control it if we try, in so far as we can either invite it in, or we can pelt pink tennis balls of untruths and projections of fear at it, and hope it will prove its endurance to use through useless abuse.
“Is this just sex,” he pushed, “and drugs, and money?”
“It’s a good time,” Caitlyn shrugged.
I don’t think one Xanax is really going to cut it. I think I’ll need a literal handful more . . . I’m a bit exhausted of everyone thinking they have any right to me. I wish more people actually feared me than resented my potential power.
“He probably just wants some adult company to talk with him about adult stuff.”
They stood next one another awkwardly, chests almost touching as Caitlyn haplessly tried to create space between their bodies.
“You seen Shannon?” David bent his head toward hers.
“No,” Caitlyn answered sharply. She didn’t look at him when she said, “Stop talking to me.”
I start explaining to him all the reasons people hate them and the societal conditioning we all undergo and how there is no perfect way for a woman to exist, except in the ways she self-determines
I didn’t make notes for this episode. So it’s just me thinking out loud about my feels.
I used very little caution because my desire and longing for affection and connection would not subside.
I enjoy a good public feud. Betty Cooper is my favorite character on Riverdale. Sure, Cheryl Blossom brings a lot of raw emotion and delusional theatrics to the series. And while I love her for it, she’s too much of a water sign for me to relate to. Young sleuth and investigative journalist, Betty, though, […]
a short one where I muse validation, and explain how I worked through some shit where I realized I can’t push people to let me be good to them.