cara

one of my favorite films, maybe even my favorite. for years i wondered why i loved it this much. i think the answer lies in its ability to touch on some fundamental points in human psychology all at once.

a sprawling city with a gorgeous skyline. home to little new york, the strip, and many beautiful shopping centers. very, very hot... image

the ability to do work. or anything.

something i have none of

that giddy feeling you get feeling the first nips of winter in the air, seeing christmas lights pop up around the city more and more, seeing ornaments and tinsel galore adorning the shelves in every shop, gazing up at the moon and half expecting to see a sleigh in the sky

salt bae

imagine with me, if you will, a snowfall.

the catastrophic peace of a winter morning, grey skies and icy windows framed by flakes laid to rest

frostbitten breezes wind through heavy-laden branches, sending clouds of snow swirling through the air as if from a powder-puff against a grandmother's cheek

wandering rays of sunlight find their way through the cloud cover

and it's beautiful.

i chase the weight of the moments after rainfall


where the world is restored to its former peace, albeit heavier, and the only sounds are the whispers of wayward droplets being tossed down from the treetops to join their minuscule sea

a soaring color full of hope, richness, depth, beauty.
the color of the horizon when the lingering rays of sunlight caress the hills
the gentle breath of lavender swaying in a summer breeze
a tribute to dreams of prosperity

i look at my phone for a text from /them/ way too often.

i think adam sandler is genuinely hilarious

"what's that thing a horse wears on their hooves again?"

"a horseshoe."

"bless you."

i can’t tell my hero who they really are to me, because they wouldn’t understand. but my hero has shown me how to love, how to learn, and how to be inspired by someone who doesn’t see themselves as an inspiration. i love them.
a hero should always be someone who inspires you to be the best version of yourself.

home.

i wish i wrote the way i thought
obsessively
incessantly
with maddening hunger
i’d write to the point of suffocation
i’d write myself into nervous breakdowns
manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
and i’d write about you
a lot more
than i should

- benedict smith

snoop dogg’s way of saying “fo sho, my...” well, you can figure out the rest.