Comments Posted By EJ

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I hate this word. But here we go. Magnetic. something that draws a person in. I find complex, complicated, mysterious things attractive. Chemical reactions. Not emotion but biology. Bees to flowers. Surface for most but not for all. Biochemical reactions that feel like feelings. Sometimes impossible to fight. Enjoyable. Blissful. Keeps us going.

» Posted By EJ On 06.19.2015 @ 8:11 am


“God is great” said the man as he knelt down, over and over. I was confused, because the last time i had seen someone bowing down like that it was in a church, not in my backyard. But our new guest, Muhammed, was unlike any other person that I’d met. In my whitewashed town, I had never spoken to or even

» Posted By EJ On 07.01.2013 @ 4:41 pm


It was like walking on stilts, being around him. He had this way of making me feel so elated and high, if I could even use a word like that considering I’d never actually been high in my life, like everything was great and everything was funny because everything he said usually was. But that’s not what relationships are based off of, because as soon as we slip up we come crashing down hard, harder than we would if we were just on level ground, and I guess that’s why we didn’t work out after all. I’m still not sure if I’m sorry about it.

» Posted By EJ On 06.23.2013 @ 9:22 pm


“Fear my wrath,” he had said when we were six, when we probably didn’t know what “wrath” meant or at least had heard of the Grapes of Wrath from our older sisters in high school who always complained about English class, and maybe that was weird that our families were so spread out like that, but it made joint dinners fun, even when you spit nonsense and made messes at the table.

» Posted By EJ On 06.13.2013 @ 11:38 am


The body lay there, rotting like mulch. The insides of the body were spilling out, half decomposed, looking like mouldy porridge.

He would never be able to eat porridge again.

» Posted By EJ On 06.11.2013 @ 7:08 pm


Bagels are only good in New York, he always tells me. But unfortunately, we are not in New York, nor will we ever be in New York, unless his “let’s go get an apartment after high school and both go to NYU or something” plan actually works. Which it probably won’t. He knows I hates crowds. He knows I hate the city. Maybe one day he’ll stop talking about bagels at lunch and start talking about something else.

» Posted By EJ On 04.03.2013 @ 2:22 pm


i smudged his watercolor painting one day, because it was too perfect. that’s the reason i gave, anyway, but i guess it wasn’t that. i guess i was just sick of him always focusing so much attention on that painting but never to me. i would sing as loudly as possible to his moody indie music but it wouldn’t do any good. he had found his passion, and i was yet to find mine.

» Posted By EJ On 04.02.2013 @ 12:37 pm


It wasn’t something that they could catch like the plague, I told them. It was fine to get near me, although I couldn’t promise that I wouldn’t yell at them to go away if they imposed on me too much. My pride didn’t fall away just because I was screaming alone in my bedroom, which they didn’t seem to understand. I guess I don’t understand it either.

» Posted By EJ On 03.31.2013 @ 11:07 am


Logan is quite the chef, but he doesn’t understand anything about nutrition, really. He can’t give me lectures about the grains group or the dairy group, or my intake of fiber per day. He just likes putting food in a pot and watching it cook. He likes watching my face as I take the first bite. I guess that’s good enough.

» Posted By EJ On 03.29.2013 @ 7:38 pm


the tornado didn’t come as a shock to anybody. with smart phones and alerts we all knew to get in the basement relatively quickly, but the aftermath sure came as a shock, as we saw the neighbors’ belongings strewn around the street. my mother said that possessions aren’t really anything to be upset over, and you’re weak if you invest emotional values into an object. i don’t believe that.

» Posted By EJ On 03.27.2013 @ 8:07 pm


They say I am destined for greatness, but I’m not so sure. What has them so convinced, anyway? They tell me that i can keep going on that roads to greatness if i can just accept that there’s no such thing as social anxiety, and that there’s n o such thing as panic disorder, whatever that could possibly be. i just need to stop crying and get over it. i don’t have a right to be upset. what do i have to possibly be so sad over? i think they just like to tell me shit and see how much they can get away with.

» Posted By EJ On 03.26.2013 @ 1:34 pm


He referred to them as “calamities,” probably to make me feel better about how frequent they were. calling them “panic attacks” wasn’t going to do me any good and i think it scared him a bit to know just how much i could wreck myself. but we both decided that popping pills is not attractive, and people who brag about it and use it as quirks for their characters or for themselves need to get a hold of something more solid.

» Posted By EJ On 03.25.2013 @ 1:41 pm


he accused me of not listening to him, but i was. it was just that his words weren’t ringing true to me, and they were falling flat, and they were sinking to the ground, dense with unimportance. he doesn’t understand what’s important to me and what i can cast aside, which is a terrible flaw to have, since all he wants to do is talk talk talk to me and hope that i listen to every single damn word that flows from his mouth. but tomorrow i will tell him that i am not going to do that anymore and he can find somebody else to listen to his crap because i have better words to listen to.

» Posted By EJ On 03.24.2013 @ 3:21 pm


Naomi had three pairs of boots that her mother bought her for the start of the school year: one lined with fur for when it got cold, a pair of lime green rain boots, and lace-up boots that she wore most days. When I talked to her about the other two pairs, she said that she had thrown them in the back of her closet and waited for the weather to change. Unfortunately, she told me, the weather doesn’t change, just like the windows and mirrors and schedules. Everything’s still the same, and she hates it.

» Posted By EJ On 03.23.2013 @ 2:07 pm


the exterior of the building is made of bricks, which is a great surface for kids to graffiti in the middle of the night, and that’s why there is a gang symbol outside of my bedroom window. he thinks it’s funny, but this isn’t like the place where i grew up, so he just tells me to “get over it, sweetie” and that’s when i decide it’s time for a nap because i am done with thinking.

» Posted By EJ On 03.22.2013 @ 2:16 pm


“Beware the Ides of March!” my English teacher chants as he hands out mini doughnuts, as the day that Caesar was stabbed is definitely an occasion to celebrate. I find Logan on the other find of the room, who just rolls his eyes and takes a huge bite of his powdered doughnut. I know that he hates Shakespeare, and I know that he knows I hate it, too, but I am thankful for the Ides of March and I am thankful for my English teacher and I am thankful for him.

» Posted By EJ On 03.20.2013 @ 2:46 pm


I could tell that Logan was pained as he fiddled with the flowers sitting on the table, trying to pry his eyes away from the clock on the wall. June had been gone for six hours now, and I knew that he needed her to come back. With everybody else gone, she was all he had.
“She’ll be back,” I tell him.
He nods and takes a sip of his water, swallowing as if it’s poison. “I know.”

» Posted By EJ On 03.19.2013 @ 2:51 pm


“Kill the Director!” they shouted as they ran towards me, and I remembered Logan playing that song as he ripped apart his copy of the Great Gatsby, which I’m sure he read although he’d never admit to it, and as I dropped from my director’s chair to avoid the angry actors, I awaited the seconds until I could awake from dreamland, back into Apartment 103B, waiting for that knock on the door.

» Posted By EJ On 03.12.2013 @ 1:16 pm


he thought so highly of himself, wearing bow ties every monday just to say that he didn’t care, and purposely failing tests jut to say they didn’t matter, and telling her that he didn’t love her because his happiness was more important. and he told me that he didn’t really care about not caring, and he didn’t know what he was doing, and he went to go find himself, and i am still waiting for him to return.

» Posted By EJ On 12.01.2012 @ 10:05 am


he made me so happy, when i didn’t have to go to the trailer park but instead could sit in his air-conditioned house, and we’d skip stones on the lake and not do our homework. we’d bake cookies but always forget an ingredient, so they never tasted quite right, and we’d listen to old CDS that your mom kept next to the fireplace. we’d dance around the living room and you’d twirl me, and i’d pretend that it was the 1950s and we were madly in love, me in my poodle skirt and you in your bow tie. but you know what? i’d settle for just the love.

» Posted By EJ On 10.07.2012 @ 1:05 pm


it was quite the scene here, the girls wearing their skimpy dresses and me in my sweater. i don’t slut shame, so i guess that it was fine, being feminist and all. i am the wallflower here, clutching my soda that isn’t diet because i simply don’t care enough, and watching those who once cared refuse to acknowledge me. i watch other people become special. i recede from personhood.

» Posted By EJ On 10.05.2012 @ 8:03 pm


“The little darlings!” she’d always say when she saw us, her eyes lighting up and her gloved hands doing a little happy dance. she would give us a peck on each cheek and her giant earrings would bobble back and forth, and i hated how her red lipstick always left those marks. now she is just a photograph on my mother’s nightstand.

» Posted By EJ On 08.30.2012 @ 3:50 pm


i’m not on your side and i’m not on hers. i wish you’d stop bringing me into this crap, because it’s getting old. it’s getting old like that smirk of yours and it’s getting old like the movie we watch every saturday night. it’s getting old like your short text messages and your avoidance of my questions. it’s getting old just like i’m getting so freaking tired of you.

» Posted By EJ On 08.23.2012 @ 4:55 pm


he doesn’t have any good manners because he grew up in a family that never taught him any. i don’t mind, though, when we go out for fro-yo or even to a fancy restaurant and he doesn’t know exactly what to do, but my mother cannot stand it. she slaved over her hot stove all afternoon and hates the fact that he can’t even say the exact words that she has picked for him to say. i don’t mind. but i am supposed to.

» Posted By EJ On 08.09.2012 @ 2:58 pm


the key turned in the lock, and i immediately took recluse under my covers. three thirty six am and i am awake, trembling with fear. i do not want to hear his hands and his words and his whispers and i just want to sleep, fall into my pleasantly distorted reality. where the boy in my study hall class comes to save me, where he makes sure everything is all right, where he promises i am just fine. i hate waking up. i hate when my sleep is prevented.

» Posted By EJ On 08.04.2012 @ 11:33 am


the icing on the cake was lemon, the weirdest icing he possibly could have chosen. i tell him i hate lemon and he just shrugs. “You don’t like cake, either, so more for me.” i laugh. this is the truth. i do hate cake, and i hate him for going through the trouble of making one, but i love him more for it all the same.

» Posted By EJ On 07.22.2012 @ 11:42 am


the railroad terminated. i asked you why it stopped and you said that there weren’t enough laborers to keep working on it and not enough money to hire any more. so it just stopped. i hopped onto the tracks and walked on them as if i were a tightrope walker. then i reached the end and jumped off and said, “i wished they finished it. i’d like to see where it would’ve gone.”

» Posted By EJ On 07.04.2012 @ 9:07 am


“Don’t let go.”

I wouldn’t.

“Do NOT let go of me.”

Why would I let go of the only thing that’s kept me here? My mind, my soul, my body?

» Posted By EJ On 07.03.2012 @ 3:46 am


The sound of something pouring into a glass, something loud and there was a lot of it. Tobi opened her eyes slightly but closed them immediately and turned hard away from the sunlight coming in through the blinds. Law stood beside her, casting a shadow over her middle as he poured a mixture of fruit juice and some thick, red liquid into a tall glass.

He looked down at her for a moment and his lips twitched a little when she grumbled for him to leave, and he set the full glass down on the bedside table.

“Tobi,” he started. “you’re going to have to sit up and drink this to feel any better.”

She didn’t answer him, just grumbled even more and pulled the covers up over her head, wishing he’d leave.

Now Law rounded the end of the bed and bent over to pull the covers back, which Tobi let him do without any struggle. He touched her forehead and tutted. “Tobi, you’re on fire. I don’t mean that to compliment you, by the way.” That got a smile from her. A weak one, but a smile anyway. The first one that Law had seen for a good time.

He put his hand on the side of her face and crouched a little lower, kissing her cheek lightly and reaching across the bed to take the glass in his hand.

Tobi cracked an eye open and her smile immediately turned into a pout, and she look at Law with pleading eyes. Law returned the stare with a feeling of sternness and helped her to sit up, being more careful with her when she winced. Now fully elevated, Law touched the glass to Tobi’s lips. She took a moment to open her lips, and only did so when Law pinched her nose, and then did she take a few sips of the nasty liquid in the glass, feeling the thickness of it pouring – no, not so smoothly… more like trekking down her throat.

She made a face and pushed the arm away, falling back down roughly into her original position. Law smiled now, and leaned down to her just as she yanked the covers up to her chin.

“Feel better, squid.”

Tobi cracked a smirk. “Whatever, voodoo. Love you.” Tobi slipped back into sleep as the last word left her mouth, so Law had to assume that she had heard him back.

“Love you, too.”

» Posted By EJ On 06.16.2012 @ 9:32 pm


She bounded down the stairs, legs pudgy, cheeks no less so, fingers, chin and upper arms, the same. Halloween. Legs in tights, eyes in excitement. Takes my heart.

» Posted By EJ On 02.08.2012 @ 3:02 pm

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