My disdain for “pete davidson” was definitely, to some degree, rooted in jealousy. It’s a song one could only write under the spell of a gloriously messy love affair.
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This is not how I imagined my first relationship would go.
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A definitive guide to all the ghouls and ghosts that go bump in the night.
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The one place where I did find some godforsaken space, a solace impenetrable by interested moms or prying sisters, was Tinder. It felt weirdly safe. Password protected. Mine.
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“My heart hasn’t been broken, it’s just chillin.’”
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How am I supposed to love my Latina-Palestinian body, easily and without hesitation, when Rachel McAdams is a real, living, breathing (thin and white) being?
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Feeling: You are my best friend, and technically you never left. I can feel you in everything, everywhere.
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