Emily and the Stickers

You know the face. The lips, dark eyes, the styled hair that looks impossible. One of those faces where you stop thinking for a second and just want something ridiculous—like, what if she printed my face on a sticker and wore it on her nipples. What if. I’d give everything. I’m serious about this.

Terry Richardson shot her for GQ. Got to be in the room when she was wearing nothing but these stickers. Lucky bastard doesn’t even know how lucky. Probably doesn’t deserve it.

That’s the thing that kills you. Your face is never going to be what she’s looking at. Not printed, not placed anywhere near her skin. Not ever. It’s his. Some photographer who probably doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near her, and he’s the one who gets to see it, and you’re sitting here thinking about it anyway because you can’t turn it off.

Emily, take me right here and now.