Kat’s Reviews > Too Much and Not the Mood: Essays > Status Update

Or maybe the spectacle was, simply put: intimate. Belonging to someone else. A person she would never know, whose entire room on sunny days is stained pink when the curtains are drawn. Walls blushing. Inside looking like insides.

It still isn't clear to her what turns her on. Though just recently, while going for a walk, she spotted a stranger's pale rose curtains from the street. An early-summer breeze sent them flapping out the window only to get sucked back in, clinging against the building's outside brick like the thin skin of collapsed bubblegum. The flapping. The clinging. The sucking-in. This turned her on.

Heart museum ♥️

"First love is all sensation and ambient zooms, and letting the world ebb. Like writing, occasionally, it feels combustive. Greedy. It’s unsophisticated and coaxes you into making promises about the far future and imbibing the moment. Into growing gullible fast, frantically so, and forgetting about yourself — about you exception. Writing does the same thing. It lays siege."