moongutzzz

me aplaudieron. me dijeron que eso era crecer.

recité tres veces mi incomodidad en voz de otros y me llamaron genuina.

me vestí de contradicción pulida porque nadie tolera la sinceridad en crudo.

esperamos el cambio como el que observa hervir el agua con la estufa apagada

llenamos el tiempo de gestos inteligentes, como si el lenguaje pudiera anestesiar la espera

Everything looks the same. Street style is now the default. Even "avant-garde" is mainstream. Trends move fast but nothing really changes.

Fashion isn’t about taste anymore. It’s about keeping up. Micro-trends appear and disappear so fast people forget what they even liked in the first place. Call it fashion fatigue? Trend fatigue?

It’s easy to tell who doesn’t actually have a subculture & who doesn’t care about music, art, literature, for real. Not in a snobby way. Just in a curious, messy, obsessive way. You can tell when someone’s whole vibe is based on what performs well. When their taste is curated for a feed. Fuck that. I can’t respect it.

The people with actual style aren’t chasing trends. They wear what fits their life. The jacket’s beat up. The book’s dog-eared. The music playing isn’t for anyone but them.

If you want to know what’s next: it’s the opposite of now. Tailored. Clean. Grown. But it won’t matter if it’s just more empty mimicry.

they are still alive but i mean the versions of them i met first. the ones i cried in front of. the ones I built myself against. the ones who stayed up with me on thrifted furniture. do i owe them? do they owe me? do ghosts feel guilt?

i have loved people who don’t exist anymore. i have been someone i can’t find anymore. do we forgive each other by accident? do we send the signal by breathing?

always moving ahead, always moving away from something.

i don’t know if i’m growing...or just running out of versions of me to escape.

people keep saying “you’re doing amazing” but i’m just tired and polite and not answering messages.

i think i want peace but maybe i just want silence.