by Annabel Gould

Confronted with this pale pastiche of beforeness. I think he used to be beautiful. Those big doe eyes now held a film of suspicion, no longer lit from the inside. We kissed and I thought about my neglected Jung homework. All Snow Whites must become the evil Magic Mirror. I opened my eyes during the makeout, our open takeout containers lingered in a dim corner of the studio. Other objects included a crumpled floor mattress, a cardboard box of chargers, and cool books like Freud’s Civilization. He grabbed my face like a balloon. Such an elegant nose and mouth, especially the mouth, even if he was old now. We’re straddling at this point. I made out with his ear because I couldn’t think of anything to say. In the open MacBook lighting, a dim dying aura trembled over him. It felt romantic but dirty like how many half-his-age girls have been here this week? I pulled my face back and his arms locked. His smile exuded a faint screenprint of the face I had seen in the movies. I watch your movies at school all the time. It all seemed so juvenile – the dining hall swipes and the discussion posts. My dorm mattress topper Pollocked in period stains. We drank water from a measuring cup.