How is the XX exactly how you feel, oh it’s called music.
She’s the kind of girl a guy meets when he’s too young, and he fucks up because there’s too much living to do. But later he realizes she’s perfect.
By my intimacy with nature I find myself withdrawn from man. My interest in the sun and the moon, in the morning and the evening, compels me to solitude.
How is someone certain they can’t do something, what is the fear, the loss of sustaining something beautiful? When does self-reflection set in when there’s no one to blame? I had the best year of my life sharing it with someone who could make me smile the longest and make me cry my hardest. As easily as it came, it goes away in an instant. The feelings, the openness in my lungs, the longing to be with someone who once felt so important to you is diminished to another fragment of your subconscious memory. Shelved away and crippling. When does it pass?
Trying to one-up my roommate, as she grills beef burgers, by making mango habanero salsa-chickpea-rice-sweet potato burgers in the oven.