Not just about intersectionality nor the layered ambiguity of reality, also the precious glimpse of "afterparty moment". Drunk, Sober, Lying in bathtub, outside the noise crowded. You can sense the crevice. The whole universe feels like now jamming in this little crevice, the crevice tears you apart from people, the crevice defines your fixation, the crevice conjuring up all the messed normality and peculiarity. The crevice individually belongs to your very own. The crevice you can never fulfill. Then you still get out. It's a moment, after all. Yet it lingers. Like the transientness of permanence. To be intimate with someone is like inviting them to caress my crevice, but we can never fulfill. Outrageous, daring, fully spoken about the state of being violated and traumatized, also sensitive enough to present the blankness. Genius. I wish someday I could have the courage to write like Michaela Coel.