Jane never waited for her Jell-O to cool, so she learned to like the taste of red on her tongue, hot and tangy. Made her squint, think about patience as unvirtue, as unbravery: to be praised for holding yourself back. She tried not to think about the most recent man to leave her. Patience as unlove. Instead she thought about how somewhere, there’s a girl biting into an unripe pineapple, born in the sun. See the rocky sand that pricks her feet. See the plastic coke bottles and ripped cereal boxes sucking back on the tide. That girl calls it home. Jane thought about how somewhere else, love is slow-moving and cool like a pillow flipped in the night.
First appeared on Word Riot.