Talking Bodies

A perfect version of me lies out there somewhere. His limbs are more outstretched than mine, landing his shiny head of hair at the 6’ mark. Where a shallow valley gapes between my eyes, a well-defined nose bridge juts out from his face. And he sorta looks like me, if only I could slap muscles…

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When Creativity Fades

Sometimes, when I get caught in the tornado of Cornell’s nightlife, my brain kicks into autopilot. My eyes hunt for any and every escape route away from the dance floor. Away from the gyrating hips and the fog of body odor. I often find myself running to the bathroom three times in an hour. Or…

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