The Conditions of Will

by Jessa Hastings

because feeling like you’re mysterious seems to be something humans value, maybe because people don’t like to feel exposed,

I find it personally offensive that men look effortlessly sexy in the mornings, I really do. It’s a great unfairness and an uneven distribution of power.

He looks at me, but I mean, really looks at me—like there’s subtext. “When I like something, I just like it,” he says. And it’s me. I’m the subtext.

I purse my lips in contempt. Think about how being a “Christian” has so little to do with acting Christ-like now, especially these days, and especially in America.

He looks up, and the way his whole face lifts when he sees me makes me want to cry on the spot, because how many people just light up because you walk into the room? One in a lifetime, two maybe?

His kisses are commas.

The nicest thing you can ever do for another human being is see them, and really see them, at that.

And I think to myself, wouldn’t it be so lovely if we viewed ourselves through the same lens as the people who love us?