Alone with You in the Ether

by Olivie Blake

For every sensation Regan could conjure, there was an artist who had beautifully suffered the same.

When you learn a new word, you suddenly see it everywhere. The mind comforts itself by believing this to be coincidence but it isn’t—it’s ignorance falling away. Your future self will always see what your present self is blind to. This is the problem with mortality, which is in fact a problem of time.

“Sometimes,” he began slowly, “doesn’t happiness seem … fake? Like it might be something someone invented. An impossible goal we’ll never reach,” he clarified, “just to keep us all quiet.”

Truly, Jennifer, art is for the ill.

a habitual existence was to live time in circles, like chasing your tail, this time the same as this time the same as that one.

Proud anti habit girly

Charlotte Regan, Aldo realized, loved change, unhealthily. She loved it like an obsession, like infatuation. With change she had an ongoing affair, and perhaps it had been neutralized for a time with pills and psychotherapy but underneath it all, the little monster that was her soul was clawing for it, and it had been Aldo who’d hauled it out again.

Every time you love, pieces of you break off and get replaced by something you steal from someone else.

To you, my fellow mortals with your gorgeous little fractures: Your crazy is your magic. Your wildness is what makes you. Resilience is your talent. Burn, but don’t burn out. As always, it has been my honor to put these words down for you. I hope you enjoyed the story, and above all else, I hope it brought you something true. xx, Olivie

okay miss ma'am making me bawl wjth your literal last words here