People make a place home, not things.
And if you don’t know, then now you know.
But tomorrow may rain, so, I’ll follow the sun.
My $10 reward card says “You did it!” like it’s unaware sitting at a keyboard slowly ordering enough from the Gap to earn it killed my soul.
Breaking out the scarf, bitches.
There’s nothing romantic about pictures of your feet.
Something, something, yelling “HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCH!” as I walked out of work.