Perfection isn’t hot, it turns out.
She smells fresh. Exciting.
What you send me is, I imagine, for me alone, that, when you come for me, you come for ME, and not for an army of perverts. I want to be your only pervert.
Happy Thanksgiving! I have so much to be grateful for.
I’m thinking about the strategies I have for making myself feel alive, when I’m struggling with a feeling of deadness. And I’m revisiting my past.