Material 000: "This is good material."

“This is good material.” I repeat it to myself like a mantra.

A breakup? “This is good material.” A sooner-than-expected goodbye. Staring at the floor for like four hours. Leaves falling in perfect little spirals at the cemetery, every October for seven years straight. “This is good material.” Good old-fashioned teenage heartbreak. New York in the fall. Waking up to a phone call too early in the morning, well past the point where it could possibly be a late night dial from some dumb, drunk friend, and never being able to pick up the phone without a racing heart again. Not fun. But good material. Getting punched in the face repeatedly. Falling madly in love. Feeling fucking insane, on account of said falling. All good material. Bursting with feelings of intimacy you don’t know what to do with, so you just stand there and explode instead. How pure. Good material. Acid on graduation day. Great material. Seasons go by in minutes. Material abounds.