you can hear the rain when naomi opens the door. she says she’ll go first, and emily turns to face her; her posture an unmistakable challenge. the space between them is the story between them, something emily started telling long ago: “once upon a time…

… we danced at a pajama party, and your eyes said more than all words i had read in my whole life. i kissed you there, once, twice. i kissed you again until the taste of you — mint and chocolate and pinot and you — drove me to delirium. and i knew and you knew i was the only person to ever get close enough to cherish it … we made a picnic of vodka … we made love by the lake …”

naomi knows the story, she knows it by heart. and it’s true. it will never stop being true.

— afterellen