I want to live in a place much bigger than me, where I can walk down the street, a place where things are so beautiful they move you to tears and where I can take a train anywhere else if I need to get out.
I want my own flat in a tall brick building, minimalist. fairy lights, small paper lanterns, colossal windows to the colour of sky fills my room every day. at night I’ll plug in the fairy lights and light candles everywhere. A loft bed with blankets and pillows like white clouds and a desk underneath for when I can’t sleep and need to write.
but the thing is, more than most of that
                                                                       I’m terrified of all the stories I will never tell
                                                                       because when it really comes down to it
                                            there is nothing charming or strong or special
                about sitting alone in my bed and thinking about all
                                                                        I made wrong
          ☆ ☆ My heart is heavy and my lips burn
                         My mind is numb ☆ .;
                            ･ﾟ as it turns
                 ☆ I plant a seed upon my tongue, ☆
          ･ﾟ And spit to see what it becomes.