sunburnt and unkissed

want is measured in sacrifice

a sourly bitter-sweet taste from orange wine lingers in my mouth. crumbs for the sparrows. wet footprints on a wooden floor. a dip in late summer water. your skin warms to my touch. it’s not time to leave yet. if only we never had to leave…

how much does it matter how we show love? when someone is delusional, they see it even in the most mundane things; conversely, when someone doesn’t believe they could be loved — no evidence is sufficient. lately, i’m not sure if i still believe in love languages, attachment theories, etc. — i guess knowing oneself, being honest with oneself, and helping others achieve the same is what matters. but, idk…

how we feel loved by someone is multiplied by how much we respect that person

local-first and offline-first

Know the difference between those who stay to feed the soil and those who come to grab the fruit.

I felt fundamentally more secure in my ability to navigate difficult situations after my first psychotic break down at 19

There’s a degree of gamification that comes in every interaction after that which says “none of this actually matters when you can survive at the bottom”

i like perfumes… but of all the scents, i think, the smell of your sweaty skin after morning yoga is one of my favorites

Sometimes I feel like I’m the worst kind of person.

There are those aggressive business people who accept “the game” and use its rules to benefit from it, and there are people who choose the opposite end — refusing to accept “the game” and sacrificing comfort to preserve integrity.

And then there are “the middle ones” like me — we keep the system running for just enough money so we can continue, but not enough to ever escape it.

To make things worse — I’m aware of it, yet I still continue.

The worst kind.