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me talking to my plants
Comme des Garçons

    Also earlier tonight i went to a show and was trying to find the bf, and as I’m looking, this really hot guy walks through the crowd and I’m like “ooh wow who’s dat guy oh lol anyway where is boy” and then hot boy comes up to me like “hey babe” and I’m really confused, and then’s like “Simone it’s me” and I guess he cut his hair off, but I got to kiss hot guy who was actually my boyfriend so I consider that a big win for the night. 

    I miss writing. It’s seems wrong to type that since I write things down every day of my life, but I never do this anymore. I never stop, sit and write because I want to write. I sit here and I do no know where my fingers will take me, these beauties beholding only to me, these soliloquies whispered into my ears and only mine, are a gift; because with each stroke of the hand I am allowing a world of my own to come to fruition, an idea birthed from a deep primal subset of my self is taking flight and can be shared and memorized and loved or hated by whomever reads it. The beauty lies there within the ability to convey emotion, an intangible human condition made understandable through imagery and words. It makes me miss writing stories, all I ever do is write papers and essays. Essays with emotions get you F’s.

    Is it weird that I kind of like hearing our upstairs neighbors walk around? The sound of their footsteps and the creek of the house in the wee hours of the morning are one of those strange creature comforts.

    holy shit this is perfection

haven’t made an embroidery in a while.