This Book Is Mental I’ve seen this book gaining traction over the past few weeks, and initially, I wasn’t intrigued. But the chatter on social media was relentless, everyone was talking about it, from groups to pages. Someone even claimed…
Author: ellie1997
I’m Els. Thirty, London, warehouse floor by day and a full face by the time I leave the bathroom. I talk like I am fine because most of the time I am, and the rest of the time I would rather be funny than sit in the quiet. I like a night out, a look that lands, a cab I probably should not have booked.
Do not bury your face treating it like a task. I want the look. I want you to clock it. That bit stays with me.
I can feel when you are half in the room. Hands on me, eyes on a screen, I go cold. Be here. Notifications can wait.
It’s when the weirdos come out There is a particular hour on the Night Tube where you can tell exactly who everyone was three hours ago. Not from their faces. From the evidence. Mascara at midnight. Work badge in the…
Someone muted the house chat mid row. Now we communicate through cupboard doors and passive tea making. Modern flatshare conflict is just delivered on silent.
Mirror app, bad light, someone watching. That is the commute. Warehouse to a night out, carriage as dressing room. This city gives you no pause.
Sometimes it means he has sense. Dinner with a stranger is tax. Meet, clock the vibe, then spend. A cheap soul shows later, not first.
Five opinions, three voice notes, one screenshot. By the time I text him I am not me. I am a committee in a tight dress.
If you want sex, say sex. If you want me, say that. Lets see where it goes is a man keeping the exit door oiled.
I want the warm-up first. Then I want you to mean it. Soft the whole way through feels like you are frightened of me really.