2am - city lights from a high rise, dusty book piles, tired eyes, writing stories, indie concerts, procrastination, denim jackets, classic movies, writing in a diary, impulse shopping, plants on the window ledge
5am - evening drives, dark circles under eyes, neon lights, vivid dreams, broken handwriting, 90s music, leather jackets, tousled hair, late night phone calls, silver necklaces, flannel around their waist
10am - soft blankets, lover of routine, acoustic songs, good grades, bullet journals, pastels and plants, sweet coffee, freshly baked bread, cat washi tape, cozy apartment, long winter coats over turtle neck jumpers, tote bags
1pm - yellow socks, doodles, doc martens, strawberries in the garden, sunflower daydreams, pictures of clouds and best friends, a handful of flowers, peach slices, paint smears on clothes
5pm - gold sunlight, peach ice tea, whispered secrets, swimming in the lake, roses on the wall, french pastries, learning foreign words, soft voices, bike rides and summer picnics, wax stamped envelopes
7pm - dreamy sunsets, evening laughter, cursive handwriting, glossy makeup, soft lighting, photo booths, cherry ice cream, sparkling ocean waves, vintage mirrors, sweet tangerines on a balcony, flowers in a bath
11pm - scented candles, unwanted nostalgia, existential questions, sadness without reason, sitting in the dark and watching the stars, associating songs with past lovers, soft heart, oversized jumpers
My OTHER other work crush just made fun of my overuse of the word literally so either it’s a pet peeve of his and he actually hates my guts or he was like playfully joshing around.
some of y’all have never gone to make a happy birthday card, and thought “i don’t need to trace it. i know how big letters should be,” and begun with a big-ass H, followed by a big-ass A and… oh, no! oh, god! ok, all right. real skinny P with a high hump, and then we’ll put the second P below the hump of that first P, sort of like a motorcycle sidecar situation. and now you have no room for the Y, so you do a kind of curled-up noodle Y. block letters and cursive look good together. and then you go to write “Birthday” and you totally forget the lesson you just learned with “Happy.” you’re like, “yeah, but the past is the past. big-ass B. surely more letters will fit in the same space,” and it really shows.
Why is being queer supposed to either be the biggest part of my identity or a huge horrible secret I hide from everyone why can’t I treat it with the same level of importance as my college major or my religion or like my weird obsession with tea
