HeyJaredlove letters to:
a home for essays, poetry, and fiction exploring the things that keep us up at night: love, loss, nostalgia, womanhood, societal pressures, and the chaos of becoming.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 9
- Latest publication
- Oct 1, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 10, 2026
Latest issues
the aftermath lasts forever (opens the original)
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This is about rape, sexual assault, violence, etc. Read with care. 🤍We’ve all spent the last few days watching the news about Cornell, reading about seven men in a fraternity house who drugged a woman, passed her body around for hours, and advertised her as 'free' for anyone else to take. Or the fifty more in a group chat who allowed it to happen and didn't say a fucking word to stop it, or the men at the top who choose to protect them at all costs. And it’s all supported by the perfectly crafte
late night calls (opens the original)
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bedsheets tangled in distant longingan outdated achea screenlight blindingtired eyeswatching the hours slip by;a scar you knewthat old wondering feelingwill you be here when i wakeporch light glowa quiet hum of empty roomsi watch the clock againi remember this hauntingfrom a life i almost forgotwhen i was youngand in lovehow do i always end up hereyou taught me how to danceto this learned affection;a slow build of my favorite songyou sniffed out all of my soft spotslike a dog on a chaseyou kisse
i think we could be soulmates (opens the original)
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I’m completely aware that I live my whole life inside my head. If you could read my mind, maybe you’d finally be crazy like me. You’d see how the thoughts scroll through like a curated algorithm meant to sell me on the terrible ideas of who I might be. Maybe you’d understand the sand that weighs down my shoes and slows me down while life runs past. It’s the silent killer, the drowning is never visible to the untrained eye. I curate the picture-perfect angles so you’d never see the unedited versi
sex sells, but what is this? (opens the original)
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i miss who i used to be (opens the original)
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As I’m trying to form the words to get these thoughts out from behind the thick walls of my skull, I can feel the world pounding from the inside out. The room starts to spin around me, until I try to catch it in motion and everything freezes, like I was always imagining the unbalanced gravity.I haven’t felt right in a while.The motions of the day carry me through the weeks, the months, the years. Monotony has become my outer coating overnight and over every long-lived and barely lived evening. I
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