I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love.
I just hope that one day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it.
And we lost track of time, just like all those old movies told us we would. We stayed up late and talked about city lights and long drives, and counted the freckles on each other’s arms. I forgot everything I knew except for the way it felt to be the one you were smiling at.
fat isn’t an insult skinny isn’t a compliment they’re just words describing body types please drill that in your heads