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run by: theoryoflostthings / yesyes / partythighs / rosiee / jessieflux
run by: theoryoflostthings / yesyes / partythighs / rosiee / jessieflux
I wasn’t honest with most of my boyfriends.
I just wanted to have as much sex as possible.
I never told my mom the real reason I got my tongue pierced.
The cigarettes that weren’t mine were actually mine, every time.
I’m not really okay with being alone in any sense.
I’ve been afraid of the dark since I was 6 years old.
I wish girls liked me more.
There is an exact ratio of coffee, cream, and sugar in every cup I drink.
Half the books I own I have never read.
I am nervous for my blood work to come back.
The countless times I have called my gynecologist in panic.
The countless times I have had to ask for help because I don’t have insurance.
He asked me when I was getting married.
The scale must be wrong.
I got so excited about a sealing wax set and an orange serving spoon at an estate sale.
The feelings I got about buying something from an estate sale.
I love crafts made by elderly women: pressed flower cards, doilies, and knit pot-holders.
I will go deeply in debt for vintage dresses that sway lightly in my closet.
I spent $192 at the Antique Mart on Broadway today: a 1960s Mod Print dress,
a 1950s solid wood bedside table, a sequins party dress.
The number of times I have to inventory our relationship before you forget where I am.
I purposefully call you when you are sleeping, so “we must have just missed each other.”
How much I would rather not do this.
How much I love doing this.