*Drunk writing

I feel my collarbone, the bones next to my lower stomach, my soft hair, my unshaved legs, oversized t-shirt, long lashes, cut nails — because I can’t grow them -, skin on my elbows and lips wrapped around a beer bottle.

I am the girl who will not give a shit about your long nights at work because I have the same. I don’t care about your sports games and flirtations at the bar. I am the girl who wants to be with her best of freakin’ best friends, and have sex after too much dinner and too much whiskey and sodas, not with the guy who thinks I am hot. Period. I was smart longer than I was hot, so I learnt to appreciate it because I had to.

If I wasn’t an underground feminist, I would say you are pussies, people who don’t want a relationship. I have been to more than 20 countries and slept with more men than Snow White had dwarfs. Actually being with someone is slightly more difficult than taking a plane, a train, a hike a walk in a new city or a continent. And better. Of course, that is if you want to.

But, as long as you have had all the trips, hikes, mystery adventures and scares, there is no perfect time, no convenient time. No time when your careers, places of residence, social and economic circles match as if the moon and the stars had aligned just for you. A good time is when you make time.

When you pull my hair I say nothing. But enjoy. We feel human with each other. That’s why everything is allowed. Everything we like together or separately.

At the end of the day, if you get bored quickly with partners, you are boring yourself, you poor bastard.