Deep Cuts

by Holly Brickley

Without a bridge, your song isn’t up for its own challenge.”

anew. Oh my god, I thought. This is what men want. For a woman to give them head without caring that they’re not handsome, that she’s late for her own show, that they won’t think of her often after this, even after her own spectacular death.

But what inspires this particular compliment, this feeling of not just loving a song, or any work of art, but longing to have created it yourself?

Your pain would have made the world more beautiful, would have made generations of women cry the most cleansing tears, the kind that open floodgates of endorphins when they’re done. You would be forever connected to these women: your people. And your wound would be healed.

ileanpercy: the memory can get me off — Almost daily, since I’d returned to New York.

Who cared about glory? I wanted the pride.

Honestly, how many different ways is it even possible for the same two people to break each other’s hearts?”