One of the scariest comments I read all the time across different platforms (but especially on Thought Catalog) is “you call this journalism?”
It’s always Why Georgia playing in the car.
A google image result of water taken at the eye level of a swimmer maybe.
Everything is fine.
Cool. I’m glad I watched an entire show about this.
The kind of woman who can feel confident her life is going to look like Diane Keaton’s in The Family Stone in a few decades.
There is doubt. There is so much doubt. But there is also certainty.
The kind of guy you write love poems about sleeping next to for three years after you stop speaking to him.
Your bed is my favorite to leave:
1) a puddle of clothes
2) the feeling that I need to cover up.
Today’s fear is the fear that I am going to regret most of the decisions I am making right now.