it’s not the lettering, nor the quotable writ of a tattoo that pops with me, but the canvas on which it is written.
I often stare at my reflection in the mirror with hopes that my doppleganger will, with guilty eyes, utter ‘What?” back at me.
It hasn’t yet.
But, I still have time.
misery is knowing that no matter what you do to try to avoid it, the result is always the same.
there are times that I can’t emotionally tolerate pop music. life isn’t all bubblegum, cynicism, and unfurling conclusions.
it’s a small victory when a 9 year old tells you that you have a way better body than Taylor Lautner.
A very small victory.