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seven/nine lives

Here's a toast to the living on the blonde side. Documenting the mild narcissism and nighttime wisdom of a little wise guy living on nine lives. Selected essays and fiction. 

Timea is a fiction writer, critic, and social researcher. She completed her doctorate in Social Policy at the University of Oxford in 2021. She currently resides in Belgrade, Serbia.

Red, Dead Meat

Red, Dead Meat

Timea Suli

I filled my head with the idea of you. My consciousness charged, like sharks to red dead meat, catching and chewing chunks of you. Hungry for you.

I think of what it would be like if you and I were on the end of my bed, my legs swinging over the edge. Your head in my lap — lights dimmed and tender — I hold your crown in cupped palms, caring not through words but touch.

(This sandbox is quick sand!)

You speak and when you do, I’m caught.

(Damn it!)

My attention snags. Sometimes when I walk through my apartment my long long dressing gown sleeve catches on a door handle and I get pulled back into the room I was meaning to leave.

(Pulled back in!)

I tried to leave, tried to leave you behind. But when I left, you came too.

I don’t know how to quit you. And I don’t need to know either. Come to bed.

Your Lies Are Impossible

Your Lies Are Impossible
Peru

Peru