Seriously, Laurustina … you’ve spent – no – wasted much too much time circling this fucking unicorn like you’ve got a chance in hell of breaking it. And deep down, some part of you knows it’s just another horse with a taped on horn. You see the unicorn you needed to see, just so there was something out there to believe in. And one of these days, honey, that sparkly little fucker is gonna kick you in the head.
Wallflowers and old women know more about men than pretty girls ever will.
I’ve put in Ivan and Alyosha because it is one of those moments where I would swear I’ve been taken dancing only to open my eyes realize that the person making eyes at you all night was a reflection of you and now you have to go home alone and the last thing you will remember is your face with smeared mascara in harsh light.
Is it any wonder you grow up to hate yourself?
But what I’m trying to describe is not the bright light bit, but the part where you and your reflection have caught one another’s eye and are dancing in unison, looking away so the other doesn’t see your throat flush, the smile on your face, the one that makes your punk rock boss touch her finger to the corner of her mouth and say, “you got a couple of feathers there still”, because you are the cat bound to burst with the canary.
This is that moment, where you are dancing. You look away. The other you does the same. And when you look back, beneath heavy lids, your other you is right there – eye to eye and the spark drills down through you. This was one of those nights where I felt the groove and Christ almighty, I miss the groove.