Forget Me Not

by Julie Soto

I decided to break from the millennial stereotype when I stopped renting. Don’t worry—I still spend $6,000 a year on avocado toast. They let me keep my membership card.

And exposure means just as many opportunities for mistakes as there are for successes.

I laugh until I dry heave. And then I wet heave. When I’m done and refilling on electrolytes, I look at my calendar.

my morning routine

Because you can find a person’s ratio of light, water, and attention, and it still won’t be enough. For flowers, it’s enough.

“Oh, come on, I’ll let you cross your arms and glare,” she says, and I let my arms drop from where they were crossed.

He’s actually talking to me. Berating me, to be precise, but still it’s language.

“In mythology, Amaryllis fell in love with a—with a man who loved flowers…”

“She stood in front of his house every day, carving a golden arrow into her heart. On the thirtieth day, a crimson flower sprouted from her chest. And he finally noticed her.”

“How long do you think you can talk about flowers while I bounce on your cock?”

She breaks down her worries, her regrets. I don’t comment. I just allow her brain to organize. When she grows quiet, I reach forward and unplug the drain. I wrap her in a towel and carry her to her bedroom.

She seethes, steam practically spouting from her ears. She spins on her heel and marches into the street just as the first horse arrives. Whitney jumps back, screeches, and the horse rears on his hind legs.

this is so regina getting hit by a bus

I like to gather up Lady Cat-ryn in my arms on Elliot’s grumpy days and drop her from a height over my head onto his stomach.

she is so annoying lmao