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my favorite trope is when someone believes they’re hard to love and someone who loves them like it’s breathing.

life goes something like this: you meet the best and the worst of yourself in other people. you come to terms that you are the universe experiencing itself. you get overwhelmed at 3 am being so close to seeing through the veil. you get what you give. and then, the next morning, you do it all over again, all over again, all over again.

future me is wearing vintage dior to ballets & operas, ordering thousands of dollars worth of la perla, and slathering herself in crème de la mer. she’s living her best life. she finds any excuse to celebrate life by drinking glasses of chilled moët & chandon rose imperial champagne while binge watching grace kelly movies. every night she drowns herself in silk bedsheets while wearing baby pink olivia von halle ‘coco’ pyjamas. there are diptyque vanille candles burning and fresh arrangements of roses (from all her admirers) & peonies (which she picked up from the farmers market) in every room. she is utterly and completely happy. i can’t wait to be her.

okay now that i’ve calmed down what am i going to buy myself as a treat for enduring this suffering