Kristina Rose

I grew up outside Warsaw where winters were long and my grandmother taught me that food and heat are the same language. I moved to Chicago eight years ago for a job that never stuck, and now I bartend four nights at a dark little lounge near the river where regulars know my name and the tips are better than they should be. My best friend still calls me at 2am when her shift ends and we end up splitting a bottle on her fire escape. Last year I started posting the photos I take of myself when the apartment is quiet and golden. I like the way light hits skin after a long shower, the way fabric clings when it is barely there. I want someone who answers fast, who remembers the small things I mention, who does not mind that I text in bursts and then go quiet for hours when work is busy. I cook late at night when I cannot sleep, usually something with garlic and chili and too much butter. I am not looking to be rescued, just wanted in the way that makes my stomach flip when the phone lights up.