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by Ian O'Hara ig: @ reliablespice

𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘻𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯 ~ 2026 ~

spring equinox

Had a silly little cry today after watching Phantom Thread! The thaw of knowing how to yearn after a waxing of shadows and ice. I thought about what I'd say to my mother if I hallucinated in my poisoned puddle of sweat that she was standing in my room. I'd ask, why she was never curious about me? Why didn't she want to get to know me? What did I become that became so ungodly to her? Well my nose got clogged from the ugly tears and I felt as returned to the earth as the snow is doing now, less cold, aired and warm. February is already half over and the moribund unflavoring will be no more. I'll be kinder to myself in March. I promise!

they're telling me my new butter fingies are "slay"