Autofocus

human: *is heating up food*

Human: *is eating ice cream*

Human: *just reheated pizza in the oven*

Human: shots! shots! shots!

I don’t really believe in regrets. All my experiences, even the ones that didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to, I firmly believe they were all worth it.

It’s also the colour scheme and the lighting. The deep red and the pale greens, the lighting so dark that some figures are obscured but the others stand out with brighter lighting. Even the circular pattern in the back references halos or other decorative features meant to draw attention. 10/10 good Renaissance art.

I just want to add a correction: O.K. was not an abbreviation for an “old-timey” spelling of “all correct”; it is in fact an abbreviation for an INTENTIONAL MISSPELLING of “all correct.” There was a short-lived period in the 1800s where it became amusing and trendy to flagrantly misspell conversational phrases and then abbreviate them, and “O.K.” is the only one to survive to the present day.

There is a rebellion lighting fires underneath my skin, and I am too scared to tell my mother about it. I am dragging my old self out of dirty corners and brushing her down. I am telling her to put her chin up and her armour on. I am saying ‘you will fight for what you believe in even if you have gone your whole life thinking that the fight is wrong.’ It is not wrong, or ugly, it is sacred. There is more to me than what I have been told. There is more to me than anyone will ever know. Not my unholy wants or the voice in my head that is telling me that I shouldn’t. I know that voice. It sounds like my mother’s and it sounds like mine except hers is cracking down the middle and she is saying ‘you have let me down’ and mine is saying ‘if you don’t keep going, your back will break.’ They are at war and they are loving each other. At this moment, I am not sure how both can exist at the same time. But I will remember here and now, that I am more spine than i am anything else. I am more heart and fury and fire. I am the 20 years of learning to love myself and the other 20 that it will take to convince me that this love is worth more than can be given to me by any man. Give me your new streets, give me your rocketing ideas, give me the gunpowder so I can put it under my tongue and let the words say it all. Not centuries of tradition, not godliness or cleanliness or docility. I will carry my fight with me. I will keep it in a pouch under my heart and when she says ‘what has become of you?’ I will undo myself gently, lay it all at her feet and tell her ‘today, I am more myself than I have ever been’, I will tell her ‘thank you, thank you, I love you.’