a fawn

I want to feel the rush of watching the cars go by with you. I miss you even though you're right there.

Literal Goddamn Manchild

I am such a wannabe sylvia plath, emily dickinson, girl in an ottessa moshfegh book- I was visiting a cemetery with a friend, and I don't think he was nearly as impressed as I was.

I am my father's daughter. My paternal grandmother was my first father. I look at her and I see me I see my hair and my eyes and my nose and my avoidant tendencies and my appreciation for beautiful things. She is a hoarder, of course, and my obsession with boxes, and stacks of books, and figurines, and pictures, and cooking appliances, is rekindled when I see her. The obsession I have had since childhood with material things is constantly hidden away and locked in a secret gold case, in fear of being sniffed out by the rest of the world. I kept my infatuation with beautiful things a secret, I would take inventory in my head and keep the possessions themselves hidden in drawers, cabinets, closets, bags, anywhere you can think of. Then I stepped into her house and all of the pent-up addiction sprawled out of me like a million ribbons all gliding and twirling in the dank and stale air. I was enamored with it all.

You look at me the way clavicular looks at woah vicky and i really don't like how much i needed u- i'm such a girl loser

the girl in me sees everything in you

Driving in cars with boys the lana del rey song rewired my brain- in such a catastrophic way. I live for driving in cars with boys- riding around town drinking in their white noise.