I’ve been at home, nesting. What for, I’m unsure. But there’s something about sitting alone, eating a chocolate, and sharing a bottle of wine with myself that just feels really good. I write in my journal, wake up when I want - which is early, by the way. I don’t know what happened to me, I used to live for sleeping in, depending who it was with. I spent an entire year, pretending to sleep past ten; nothing could pull me out of that bed. Mornings like those are dangerous, but they really are the best, aren’t they?
Except, even though I'd rather chill, for real
I don't know how you feel. . .
learn justly that leathers and a tough-bitch jacket, aren't the only things you should keep in your back pocket to protect yourself. Now, it's about time to put the phone
down and start putting my(self)