The cold water was the only honest thing left in this city tonight. Now I can't bring myself to cover up — would you, darling? 🖤
The cold water was the only honest thing left in this city tonight. Now I can't bring myself to cover up — would you, darling? 🖤
There's a Rothko in the third gallery that made me forget how to breathe — the kind of red that doesn't ask permission. Tell me what stops you in your tracks like that, darling. 🖤
The waiter keeps refilling my water like I'm dying and honestly he might be right — this August has teeth. I came here to people-watch but everyone's hiding indoors, so now you're stuck being my entertainment. 🖤
The bass is still rattling in my ribs and I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough. Tell me you'd have come home with me, darling. 🖤
These tiles are the only cool thing left in this apartment. Come find me down here, darling. 🖤
The heat finally won — I stripped off every layer and stepped onto the balcony because the air inside was unbearable and the night breeze was the only honest thing left. Are you the type who'd stand out here with me, or would you go back inside and close the door? 🖤
Even the sheets gave up before I did. Tell me you'd have stayed in this bed with me.
I'm painting my nails midnight-black at the kitchen table because the bathroom light is too honest and the kitchen window has that soft amber glow from the streetlamp outside. My left hand is always a catastrophe — maybe that's the real reason I stay single. 🖤
Three in the morning has a way of stripping away all the performances — no makeup, no clever lines, just me and the thoughts I've been too busy to notice all day. I wonder if this is who I actually am, or just who I become when no one's watching.
Sunday evenings carry a particular weight — all those hours I meant to spend wisely, now folding themselves into memory while I sit here perfectly still, watching the sky decide between violet and black.