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Written by Alexandria, Designed by Archana
Torn
Photographed by Issy, Illustrated by Mia
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Together
Written by Connor, Illustrated by Lily
“We’re getting too old for this.”
Ever since I knocked on his door that Chicago night, it had been like this. Once a year, like the cicadas every seventeen, we bloomed and flew into the night.
“I don't think I’ll ever be too old for this.”
Of course I said that. I hated how feeble I was in his presence. He would suck all the strength out of me until I was nothing but small and submissive to him.
“I know. But don't you want something more out of all of this?”
I had no clue as to what ‘this’ was referring to.
“You know that I want something more.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know that. I mean just like do you wanna keep hooking up like this year after year? Don’t you want to meet a guy and fall in love?”
“I don't think I can. Plus I’ve been in love. Being in love is overrated. Why be in love when you can be obsessed with someone?”
It's true. I truly am obsessed with him. Everything he did was magic to me and I was convinced that all his thoughts and opinions were gospel.
“What am I supposed to say to that?”
“Did you not want me to be honest?”
“I guess not.”
“Why don't you just move on?”
Sometimes I could be feisty, but very rarely.
“I have moved on, this is fun to me. And I just like seeing your face.”
“I told you that you can't say those things to me because I will get attached.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“Don't be sorry. You don’t ever have to be sorry with me.”
I go silent. He pulls out his grinder. “Do you wanna smoke?”
“I guess.”
“So what do you even do at this point?” He said as he lit the joint.
​
“I don’t know. I float. I write sometimes. I’m basically broke.”
“You know, I thought that you were gonna be famous when I first met you.”
“I did too.”
I looked out from his crummy Brooklyn apartment balcony and felt like I'd done something wrong. Because I had. I’d done a lot of things wrong. As a kid I was so scared of getting older because it came with all of these mistakes that you would make.
I was right to worry about that.
“I read that piece that you wrote.”
“You found it?”
“I looked.”
“What did you think?” All other feedback on that piece fell mute and suddenly his was the only one that mattered. I stared into the brown colorblind eyes as he took a hit.
“I thought it was good. You have talent.”
“Thank you.”
Silence. He looked at me, and I looked down. I looked at him, and he did the same. We both stared at the floor.
"Is this the end of us?"
I hated that he was bringing this up again. But I also respected him for it–because I couldn't respect myself enough to face the question. I can’t walk away. I’ll always see him.
I’d always be down to hang out.
​
​I say it every time–just like he texts me whenever I tell him I’m near.
“Don’t call us, us.”
“Sorry.”
“I think it has to be the end.” I said it and I immediately regretted it.
“Why?” He was hooked on me too. Even he couldn't pretend that I was nothing. In fact, I was special to him–and he was treasure to me. He never told me this but I knew this was true. He also wanted to be close to me.
I knew him too well.
“Well, do you want to continue this?”
“I don't think we should.”
“Okay.”
He extended his hand to me and pulled me onto his olive-green couch. I obliged and sprawled out into his hairy arm that was now wrapped around my body. The same arms that he was insecure of because they were so hairy. I looked at my own barren arms, the same arms that I was insecure of because they were so hairless and feminine. As I burrowed into him, I knew that this wouldn't be the end. He traced his hands gently along my body and I was convinced that nothing could be better than this. It would never end. Somehow his arms would always be wrapped around me.
Why did it matter what we are?
We were together. Safe. Held. One.
In the Ceramics Studio
Written by Luke, Animated by Nina
