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But why mourn the woes of winter, when the birds lay stark and stiff so stern was Ida's snow? Or summers scorch, on a lazy noon, when the sea fell level and asleep under a windless sky? Why mourn old woes? Their pain has passed.

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I don’t know when my life is going to seem as if it is ‘real as hell’ or if I will waste my life away following a routine and color coding my closet with clothes I don’t like. I over use comma’s and can load a dishwasher. Dear Excitement, Please come. Please fucking save me.

I don’t know when my life is going to seem as if it is ‘real as hell’ or if I will waste my life away following a routine and color coding my closet with clothes I don’t like. I over use comma’s and can load a dishwasher. Dear Excitement, Please come.

Please fucking save me.