Feeling like anyone but yourself feels like one long night.
Last night I smoked a blunt with a 65-year-old woman.
You reassured me and told me to wait, and here I am, still waiting.
It really is possible for anyone to turn their life in a new direction, and to finally become what they once might have been.
Hangovers demand a light at the end of the tunnel, a reason to go on and actually leave your bed.
Los Angeles and New York, they came first and last. Each one makes me want the other.
And sometimes I wonder if we truly learn to overcome heartbreak, if we ever pick up the pieces; or we simply learn to go on with holes in our heart and broken pieces all around us.
These girls are all alone in the world. And they know it.
A wrong turn here and there and you’re stuck in the labyrinth of sadness forever.
You don’t owe anybody, including you, the type of self that never fails or feels fragile.