The walk of no shame used to feel like power. Lately it just feels like I am frightened of breakfast. That is a different story.
Tag: mornings
Drink can make a bad idea feel cinematic. Daylight and tea do not. I like the ones still filthy when nobody has an excuse left.
A bruise with no text after is just mess on skin. If you claim the body, you can claim the morning as well afterwards too.
Three alarms, two hairdryers, one narrow corridor. I am not asking for a convent. I am asking not to start work already fully irritated today.
Kettle on, someone half dressed, my cereal in the crossfire. I live here. I work early. Your new friend does not need any kitchen tours.
No name talk. No job talk. No story about the week. Just a dark room and a warm body that does not need a biography.
I leave product everywhere. I know that. Still, if you use my mascara I will know. A shared flat is not a shared bloody face.
No speech. Just the look and an extra mug on the side. Flatmates see the mascara and the hour. Lying is pretty pointless in here.
Not showy messages. The are-you-home-safe ones after. Aftercare is a character test. Most good people pass the sex easily and then fail the morning kettle.
I can do no-strings. I am genuinely good at it. Then someone makes tea properly and I invent a whole future they never once offered.