“can definitely travel” by Sasha at her desk


Thursday January 12, 2016
1:37pm
5 minutes
From an email

My mother braids my hair before bed, because it’s long now and I toss and turn so violently that I wake, morning after morning, with a birds nest at the nape of my neck. I have nightmares at seven, eight, nine and my mother makes a little bed beside her own that I can crawl into without having to wake her. The run from my room to her room is agony. I do it nightly, building courage like a city around me, inside me, gaining courage until I burn pictures drawn in crayon of my nightmare and he goes.

“I don’t even think that your songs are about me” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday January 11, 2016
5:24pm
5 minutes
Like You
EXES


I don’t think that your songs are about me, but I pretend that they are. I imagine that you want me more than anything, that you’d take me anywhere. I imagine that we live together. Some place with exposed brick and an espresso maker. We can see the skyline. I just stare at it, all day, waiting for you to come back from the studio or a songwriting session. I stare at the expanse of city, and I think about what I might wear to the next awards show, or what cologne I’ll spray on my chest before I hear your key in the lock. I wait a few days before shaving because you like a good five o’clock shadow.