the kindest one.

an unopened bottle of champagne sits on the floor near my bedroom door.
we lie in bed weak from martinis and whiskey
and he reaches over and says “good morning sweetheart”.
my succulent plants can no longer face the cold temps of my winter new york bedroom
and my once white rug is now a grey blur.
his beard tickles my neck as i listen to my neighbor’s heels clap on the floor above.
for a split second i can see clouds surround our bodies.
gravity is a lost concept and i’ve never felt so high and so sober in one moment.
i am being held by the kindest man known to mankind,
and in this hour i’m not fretting about when i will see him next
or if he likes me back.
rather, my mind is serene and my body is still
and all of me feels pleasant.

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about me: mercedes.

my favorite flower is the peony.
when i drive, i wish i had a hand to hold.
sometimes when i drink too much
i become semi-fluent in spanglish.
my cat likes to eat my plant and it irritates me sometimes, but i can never stay mad at her.
i am a feminist.
i am currently writing this with my robe on that i accidentally got peanut butter on just moments ago.
sometimes i wish i had someone to cook for, but also, it’s nice not worrying about someone else’s palate.
i’m growing my hair back out.
not too long though.
i love an all black outfit.
beyonce is a goddess
and zoe saldana is my woman crush everyday.
i have about 6 different mugs
but i drink coffee in the same one every morning.
i say “fuck” a lot and i don’t think my family knows/understands/cares to know how much i swear.
i won’t smile if my lips aren’t moisturized.
but my lips are always moisturized.
coconut oil>olive oil.
my coworkers bought me 2 packs of wintergreen altoids for my birthday and i couldn’t find words accurate enough to express my appreciation.
my favorite color is navy blue.
i suck at applying makeup.
when i sleep, i spread my body into an “x” and take up my whole bed.
it’s the best
and sometimes i feel bad for my future husband.
i think about religion a lot
and i’m pretty confident aliens exist.
a lot of times, i write about boys and love and other stupid things, but i figured i’d write about myself for once.

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