…is dead. That’s what they tell you, right? But then they laugh at what you love, point fingers behind your back and sometimes right in your face. Cringe is alive and well in the bullies, in the elitists, in the gatekeepers. Cringe is thriving in the negative spaces of their hearts. Cringe will never be dead—not until we stop caring so much about what others think of us.
“Oh no!” The words exploded in my mind. I felt my body tense, shoulders hunched up to my head and found myself curled up in the corner of the room. Except I was doing none of those things in reality, only in my head. My thoughts were shouting and I couldn’t hear what was going on, not that it occurred to me to even listen. There was far too much going on inside me for that, and yet the whole thing played out like a film in which I was not even an actor, but only the audience.
In the heat of the Midwest, where roads stretch like sentences that don’t know how to end, you find small towns filled with the clutter of unmet aspirations. The local fair brings out the old, the odd; human curiosities to whom the world pays no mind.
He sat at the bar. His drink, untouched. A memory replayed. The bullfight, the roar of the crowd. He had turned from the dying bull, the shame in its eyes too heavy. He’d found no glory there.
He sat at the bar. His drink, untouched. A memory replayed. The bullfight, the roar of the crowd. He had turned from the dying bull, the shame in its eyes too heavy. He’d found no glory there.
A peculiar shiver ran through her, as if touched by an icy finger. That dreadful hat Mrs. Elton wore, the incongruity of its feathers and silk. It spoke of an impenetrable loneliness, a soul clutching at straws.
Here we are, floating on a rock in space, and people still find time to worry about mismatched socks. Humanity, you’re hilarious. Embrace the galactic circus. Socks are the least of your worries.
She cringed away from the dusty shelf, its surface covered with various jars and vials of cloudy liquids. Cobwebs netted it all together. Inside the jars, despite the cloudiness of the liquid, shapes floated. She didn’t have time to deal with whatever this was.
something awkward it can be an action or a situation it make people uncomfortable
…is dead. That’s what they tell you, right? But then they laugh at what you love, point fingers behind your back and sometimes right in your face. Cringe is alive and well in the bullies, in the elitists, in the gatekeepers. Cringe is thriving in the negative spaces of their hearts. Cringe will never be dead—not until we stop caring so much about what others think of us.
That’s all there is to it.
“Oh no!” The words exploded in my mind. I felt my body tense, shoulders hunched up to my head and found myself curled up in the corner of the room. Except I was doing none of those things in reality, only in my head. My thoughts were shouting and I couldn’t hear what was going on, not that it occurred to me to even listen. There was far too much going on inside me for that, and yet the whole thing played out like a film in which I was not even an actor, but only the audience.
In the heat of the Midwest, where roads stretch like sentences that don’t know how to end, you find small towns filled with the clutter of unmet aspirations. The local fair brings out the old, the odd; human curiosities to whom the world pays no mind.
He sat at the bar. His drink, untouched. A memory replayed. The bullfight, the roar of the crowd. He had turned from the dying bull, the shame in its eyes too heavy. He’d found no glory there.
He sat at the bar. His drink, untouched. A memory replayed. The bullfight, the roar of the crowd. He had turned from the dying bull, the shame in its eyes too heavy. He’d found no glory there.
A peculiar shiver ran through her, as if touched by an icy finger. That dreadful hat Mrs. Elton wore, the incongruity of its feathers and silk. It spoke of an impenetrable loneliness, a soul clutching at straws.
Here we are, floating on a rock in space, and people still find time to worry about mismatched socks. Humanity, you’re hilarious. Embrace the galactic circus. Socks are the least of your worries.
She cringed away from the dusty shelf, its surface covered with various jars and vials of cloudy liquids. Cobwebs netted it all together. Inside the jars, despite the cloudiness of the liquid, shapes floated. She didn’t have time to deal with whatever this was.