Hollywood’s usual lead—the juiced up, tanned, muscular, beefy, perfect haired, Abercrombie and Fitch-looking man—seems to be in complete juxtaposition to what has been dubbed the “Art Throb.”
I am a chocoholic and a hopeless romantic.
Everything that happens is meant to happen.
Remember when we were in such a hurry to see what all the fuss was about to be grown up?
An unknown number pops up. It’s you.
There was so much more you missed in between my lines. While I was memorizing your story, you were completely obsessed and enthralled in your own.
Go to Sephora and buy yet another nude pink lipstick that you don’t need.
Sometimes life delivers us storms to watch how we handle them.
I want the grit. I want the comfortable conversations you have with someone who you have undeniable chemistry with.