Yesterday I had a dream (among other weird and vaguely unsettling dreams—gang torn, segregated Harlem, I’m looking at you). There’s this girl, and she’s trapped in a house. There are two goons in black and white suits trying to kill her. They’ve been ordered to do so. They stalk the house waiting for their moment. She knows that she is in imminent danger, and the way out looks bleak. Another woman is added to the house, and the first girl, feeling solidarity, tries her hardest to get both of them out of the situation. What she doesn’t know is that the second girl is a ploy and has been sent there to help bring the first girl to her death. But she is racked by the weight of this guilt, unable to express the betrayal, she just sits on the floor of the upper level of the house, paralyzed. The first girl decides it’s fight or die, and she chooses to fight. (This is where some weird dream logic is going to be added.) Both the girls have special (and fashionable) belts that give them an upgrade—I don’t remember what the first girl’s belt did or what it provided her with, maybe it was a shield of sorts that they needed to get off of her. But the second girl had a belt that had written on it ‘flower power’ (corny, I know). The first girl takes this belt from her, hoping that it will give her some sort of power to fight off the guys waiting for them downstairs.
And this is where the dream gets meta. At this point, I, as the dreamer, am vaguely aware of the situation at hand. I am watching this girl trying to fight for her life, yelling 'flower power', trying to make anything happen. She’s fighting a losing battle, but she can prolong evading the guys waiting to kill her. I can prolong the guys waiting to kill her, but then I would have to watch her suffer indefinitely, always in torment, always afraid, but still she would be alive. I had to a choice to make when I don’t usually have choices in dreams, to continue her torment or end it.
So in the haze of control, I decided to end the dream, and I had to watch them kill her. I didn’t enjoy it, but I knew there was only one way out, and it needed to end. Which is the moral dilemma behind it all. Is it better to live in torment and live or to die and end it?
It just felt so necessary to have an ending, even if it wasn’t one that I wanted.
I’m approaching yet another ending. Summer is fleeting, for me at least. This week, I pack up twice—from New York to Maryland—and from Maryland to Massachusetts. I have to count myself lucky that all my endings have been at a good point. The alternative is and would be so much worse. I had this thought settled in my head that New York, in the end, wasn’t for me, wasn’t the place for me to spend my youth. Because I haven’t been the me I remembered being in London. I’ve made so many strides this year, and talking to Alyssa, I’ve realized that I’m comparing incomparable things. My growth in London can’t be replicated here because growing doesn’t work linearly. And I had already made up my mind a month ago, but now that I’m here at the end, I’m not sure that I was right at all.
I write this in the peak of a cold, coughing every second, and drinking tea to soothe my chest. I had to splurge and spend $40 on the really good medicine so I could thug it out for me and Maya’s going-away party tonight.
I said to myself, I haven’t grown in the ‘Big Apple’. That I haven’t put myself out there more, or made more music, or written more pieces. But that’s really just summer. I was overzealous to blame so much on a place I’ve only been in for 2 1/2 months. As things are, I’ve realized a lot about myself. About the alone time I actually enjoy when I have freedom at my disposal. And like London, I’ve met so many amazing people once again.
When I meet people whose company I enjoy, I latch on like a docking spaceship onto a bigger satellite. I latch, but I won’t click unless the alignment is perfect. In the past week, I’ve met so many people I would kill to get to know better. And yes, it’s sad that I’m leaving, and I can’t for sure know if these people feel that pull that I do to want to see them again. But all I can do is try and try to make it known. I understand I ride this line of seeming clingy and wanting to reach out and make connections. It’s why I’ve banned myself from randomly insta-dming people I’m interested in (first) — the ‘first’ is very important because I love random messages, but historically this has never worked for me, and there’s only so many times you can repeat a mistake before it’s no longer a mistake and just embarrassing.
I want to be optimistic and hope that my leaving isn’t the end of these budding relationships I made, and that if I find myself back in New York, we could pick up where we left off, and that they would want to. But that kind of assurance only comes around through mutual understanding and love. The problem, in part, is that I always have so much love to give and will always give it. I can only hold out and hope that the future is well. I can’t make any promises
As I leave, I also leave behind the only boy on the hinge I have gone three dates with. Who is so kind and sweet and makes me painfully awkward than I usually am. I think about him, and all I have is this deep admiration for how whole of a person he is and how the next person he meets would be so, so lucky to have him in their lives. There is no future for us, and I knew that for a really long time. There was no chance of hooking up or anything along those lines, weirdly, that seems impure to put those desires onto him, which is why I know we haven’t spent enough time together for me to strip him down to the human basics of desires. I wish him all the best and am endeared to his love of movies that mirrors mine.
In a way, I mourn all the people I’ve met and refused to let go as passersby and condemned them to the graveyard that is my Instagram dm’s. That random guy I met from UMD or the niche micro rattail musician. The girls I met in line or at an event, bellbottoms who I’m not sure still has a girl but texted anyways because I was drunk, or the acquaintances that I want to become friends with so I try to play cool so I don’t seem overbearing and am left with conversation stoppers lying dead in their tracks met with a seen or a reaction emoji.
But I appreciate mourning the way that I appreciate embarrassment. It means there was something meaningful to chase and to leave behind. Sometimes all you can do is mourn good times, even though they were good.
This is a year of goodbyes, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit I always loved the death in it. One of my favorite cards in the tarot deck is XIII DEATH. Not in a cryptic emo sort of way, but because it always means new beginnings.
I was going to wait to post this post until after I saw the Jeff Buckley movie 'It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley' tomorrow, and after we had thrown our going away party to give some perspective, but I am deeply and always impatient.
This is my last side note, but last night, congested with my cold, I was thinking about alcohol. I don’t know if I can say this past month has been the most alcohol I’ve consumed because I’ve had some pretty nonstop weeks in London, but I’ve had a lot of alc (sue me) recently. And it made me realize that my alcohol knowledge is built on other people. Alcohol has always been a blank slate for me. Gross liquors that taste like death and things to scarf down to make Western Massachusetts college parties bearable. But I have this list of associations in my head that I accidentally made, and here it is
☆ Pacificos - First time I had one was last week, when I went to buy more beer for a house party I was at. Zoe was waiting for her bus, but she tagged along with me to the corner store. I asked her what I should buy, which is kind of a hit or miss question for me to ask Zoe, but she pointed at the Pacificos and said that only people with taste buy those. So I bought them.
☆ Guinness - Will always remind me of Vivian (the German). I broke my Guinness virginity with her at a pub on the edge of Victoria Park. We sat at that pub for hours just talking and her telling me about her love triangles and so many other things. It was a really pivotal moment in our friendship. It’s quite honestly the only beer she drinks; she cannot do lagers.
☆ White wine - also Vivian, when she wasn’t drinking Guinness, it was always a white wine, plus she HATED red wine.
☆ Amaretto Sour - The first time I had one was also this summer. Alyssa put me on. She said it used to be her go-to drink, and it’s like really yummy. I think it was our first official drink together, and it was the night we joy bonded. Now we just randomly love bomb each other.
☆ French 75 - Also had my first one with Alyssa, but more so I’m reminded about how my roomate Aurdey told me she got too drunk in France off of these.
☆ Beef Broth Shots - I took these with Alyssa and Audrey, and two of us would say they were horrendous and bad, and Alyssa would just say they were amazing.
☆ Soju - The first time I had soju Lia brought it for us. So they are forever interwined with the memory of her. But among that, it really reminds me of London and Maya’s dorm at UCL. It reminds me of London, Lana, and Maya.
☆ Tequila - This reminds me of Alyssa because she cannot tolerate it in any form. If tequila touches her lips, she’s going down.
☆ Vodka - This reminds me of a plethora of people, including Sophie. Very much Smith College coded. But most of my friends are committed that they will never again do shots of vodka.
☆ Moscow Mules - Lana is a big fan of these, or she was when we were in London. I think it’s one of the first drinks she learned how to make on her bartending journey. I think of her whenever I order one, and it’s such a safe bet because they never usually taste horrendous.
☆ G&Ts - This was Maya’s go-to for a bit in London, easy to make, easy to drink. I think of her when I order one.
☆ Aperol Spritz - Zoe again. We had an Aperol spritz run that ended in Berlin night after night getting drunk off of 3 euro spritz. Too much.
☆ Sangria - I am reminded of Spain. Maya and Maya, Bridgit, Zoe, and Vivian. Such a fun and festive drink. We were all chasing the feeling of summer then, I’m sure of it.
☆ Beerita - This is Maya’s (J) specialty. She made it for us at this hangout in Victoria Park. A crazy hot day in London (it was probably only 70), but me Vivian and got so drunk and it was just so peaceful and nice.
☆ Blue Moon - This reminds me of Alex and Paul. The weekend our band had our first gig, we were shuffling through names, and Paul had come to visit. I wanted so badly to see Sapien Joyride because of my celebrity crush (a white masc, let’s not speak of it) and Alex and Paul offered to go with me. We never made it outside of Wilson House. But we had heard tales of a secret catering kitchen with all the alcohol you can imagine from a secret staircase. We eventually found it and stole some blue moons to get drunk off of, maybe along with other stuff. It was a really chill night, odd in so many ways, but nice in others.
☆ These random canned flavored margaritas - AC was fiending over these things at this house party. I have no clue what brand they were, but they were so good.
☆ Bailey’s - This will probably always and only remind me of my brother and his wife. This was like one of the only times I’ve drunk alcohol with an adult, and it was cute having that moment with them
I’ve said goodbye to a lot of these people, will say goodbye to others. But there are a lot of hellos on the way (cheesy cheesy). But if you made it this far, true dedication on your part, thank you!
So I preemptively say goodbye to this chapter in life and wait for the next goodbye to hit me.
Jul 30, 2025
in the heat with an alc layer
It’s all so odd, I think. Having my Substack as a primary source of knowledge for some people about my life. Which is odd in itself, to me, because I did always see this as a tool for people to use if they wanted to stalk me.
Saturday, I went to a house party that AC invited me to. This is also the night, after almost a year, that I found out what AC stood for. But she told me that she feels caught up in my life because of my posts. Which is incredibly kind, but I am overwhelmed by the feeling and the fact that there is much of my life I haven’t documented. People I haven’t documented that I met and revolved around. It’s a combination of being too busy and not busy enough.
Since I’ve started this post…
I’ve gotten buzzed because I can do that now as a legal 21 year old. Crazy work. This will speak to the disjointed nature of this post. An amalgamation of things, and an excuse for me to write. I’m sitting at the living room table with soju open in front of me, the Talking Heads playing in the background. I sat down for 6 minutes on a voice memo, hoping to say something profound, I didn’t. Here are some quotes from that
I wonder what artist do when they get drunk to write
I feel like a fraud because I say that I’m a writer but I think I’ve hit that point where I’m not much of anything anymore. I don’t really make music and I don’t really write anymore. I think I’ve come into a sense of having all these things in my background to be an appreciator, and that’s not what I see for myself in my life. I felt that I would be a more active pursuer of the arts and not really a passive consumer of it. But it’s the easiest thing to do and I don’t see myself breaking out of that mold anytime soon.
It’s just hard to realize that when you want something, even a little bit, it just stings a bit when you don’t have things go your way. I’m fine that nothing happened and nothing came out of it, but how much funner would my life be if something did?
This last one was about a boy I follow on Spotify, and I think he has an obscure music taste. I found him on Hinge and sent a like, not to go on a date, but to strike a conversation. I have this weird relationship with people on my Spotify. I have Spotify celebrities. There’s something so vulnerable about a Spotify. About a person’s music, which is why I am a certified music stalker, and also partially why I live under the assumption that I know a person after going through their playlists. And I guess as I’m sitting here on this couch and all I really want to do is connect. I want to connect to the people I know and love, but won’t respond to my text messages because they’re busy or not on their phones. To the people I’ve never met before, but I knew from afar, and the people I have met before, but are not close with.
I sit here wanting to talk, but I can’t, so instead I write this stream of consciousness. And I find that I’m not much of anything right now. A blob of a person who claims to be many things and has nothing recent to show for it. Music, writing, and films. I find that my writing has grown so much worse. I read things I wrote from a year ago and think that I can never replicate the way I travel through words and my growing curiosity in tone and sound. I fear I feel like every other person talking colloquially to their blog.
I recently discovered the roof of our building, and I’m trying to integrate it as a 3rd space. I’ve deprived myself of the sun because we don’t get it directly in our apartment, and I’ve been too lazy to go outside. I’m trying to rediscover pieces of me that I lost. And I have to admit, maybe that’s not the best way of thinking about it, it’s a little defeatist and self-pitying, but I will write poetry more and to you more, my dear reader. (Forgive me, I am tipsy.)
Here are things I wrote today on the roof as the sun set
Note: there are no stars in New York city, maybe this is why I'm on the way to forsaking astronomy. There are planes and satellites, but even I find myself deluded, hoping the bright orange tinted light is mars. But all I have is the moon and the buildings that cast a forever halo, a pertruding Sunset over the borough of Manhattan
This upcoming semester, my last year, I have resolved to write a thesis around the absurd. Absurdism and the absurd. And while I was on the roof, sober but bathed in a sliver of the moonlight, I was thinking about romance, a thing that I have rarely experienced, but know from many sources that it really fucks you up. I sit there and I wonder if I had the chance to experience it, in what ways would it warp the world around me? I wonder if I had the chance to experience romance, would life and everything in between still be so absurd? In a way, I hope the answer is yes. Because if I find that things start to make sense, then I have given life more credit than it was due.
I sink in that makeshift theater with you
like a girl taken aback to middle school
you asked, so kindly to put your arm around me
so sweet
all I could do was let you
running high off the anxiety of your touches
or the free caffeine
I find it so hard to breathe
my guts, in my throat, over working the audio of the screen
but in the moments I find my breath
I couldn't help but think of you a month from now
starting a life without me
I have to hope that you meet an amazing girl, confident and free
and she would be lucky to be where I'll never go with you
sweet sweet and kind
in ways, all I hope to do is to hold your hand
I tried to get my guitar teacher to teach me this song once, and he was mystified by it. unwilling to give the chords and progressions a shot. I have to admit, it is a very hard song, but I am utterly in love with it.
This post is in part a post to say that I posted. I am about to make a promise that all writers make, and it’s to write more.
Guys and maybe justin bieber doesn’t suck. Maybe really we’re all on the same wavelength
must be a hypocrite, or afraid to admit things to myself, or have a shaky resolve. I figured London would be it for me, no more trying to date — I had my fun and that should be enough…but it isn’t. And after many, many times claiming I wouldn’t get on Hinge again, I have caved. Here is a (rough) poem I wrote in London a few months ago about what Sophie calls the big H
again i have succumbed
sworn up and down
for months on end to never turn back
learned my words are easily swayed
and that in a few weeks, the cycle will repeat again
i will delete this moment in time
swearing to never return
but in a perfect world my words would be as sturdy as that brick house the wolf
could not blow down
in a perfect world my attachment to serendipity would
and could only exist in its truest form
face to face
words to mouth
from conception to inception
This may sound stupid, but I just got my hair done, and it’s new in a way that I’m not comfortable in it yet. So effectively, I feel like a catfish when I get online. I fear this moment in time being slightly different from the mes that exists in different moments in those photos that make my profile are inauthentic and a lie. But that’s not true.
Either way, time and time again, Hinge does disappoint. For some reason, the gayness has partially left my body this year (this sounds problematic but I really think it’s the sexuality is a spectrum specturming in one way for a bit) and it traps me because men kind of suck, in the nicest way possible. This time around on Hinge has technically been better than my other ones, more matches, more hot people, but still, no dates.
Well, one date. It was a nice date, a normal date. a little akward meeting a person for the first time and sweating your ass off in 90 degree weather. But he taught me a nice game of idiot, and we stared at the water off the pier that looked like wrinkled paper or topography. We were supposed to go on another one, but he’s currently sick, so again my lack of object permanence brings me down to square one. This is not from a lack of trying. I’ve gotten bold! cutting through most of the bull and just straight up asking to go on a date.
I was almost embarrassed by that, but drunk me only does things sober me wants to do. After two days of no response, I gave up on that pretty quickly. After a week, he finally did respond and said he would love to! I hate playing the wait to respond game because it’s either I respond when I want or I’ll forget. You should never limit your personality for another person! Fuck a game you don’t want to play. That being said, I responded, and now we’re back to no response. While I think this boy is cute, he might be a little evil, and I’m annoyed.
Everyone else on Hinge also doesn’t want to talk, and maybe it’s because they choose to match with people they’re not into and can’t be bothered to give the time of day to. But speculation speculation.
So technically I’m dating again, but only so much of that I can claim if I don’t go on another date. But I can’t give up, I’ve been in at least 5 different relationships in my dreams in the past week, some of the guys from Love Island, some people I’ve never seen before, and even yesterday night, Pedro Pascal. The universe is trying to send me messages in my dream, its telling me that im really horny.
I have landed back in the land of imperialism and consumerism. And even before I left, I knew deeply in my soul, I would miss London. I have lost and found different aspects of myself. I barely read, I barely write or make music—but as a person, I really feel I’ve grown—you’ll have to bear with me, I haven’t written in a bit, so my prose is a bit rusty. I’m at a peculiar bit of my life, things are ending, and many more things will end. When I first arrived in London my first dream was about leaving, finding myself in the airport, shocked that it all went so fast because I remembered nothing. I remember a lot, but it really does already feel like a memory. Being back in Maryland, it’s like the past five months didn’t happen. Every place I visit, I remember the last time I was there, and it feels like yesterday. Whenever I return home, the rest of the world feels so far away. It feels like Smith isn’t real or London isn’t real. I’m happy to be back. I haven’t seen so much green in forever, but still, I’ll have to grieve eventually.
I’ve been holding onto my jet lag because it’s the last gift I have from London. But my body is easily falling back into the familiarity of Eastern Standard Time
I am lucky because I did make friends who are amazing. Even luckier because some of them are American and won’t be lost by the act of me leaving—but everyone else…damn. The last time I wrote on here was before I went to Berlin (where many things happened and have fundamentally shaped my experience, the people I spend time with, and the people I miss). I’m being vague, I know it, about who I’ll miss, I think I refuse to fully examine it because I’ll have to confront all the ways I’m losing amazing and varied people. I’ll miss the Germans: Max and Vivian (with her stop making sense neck tattoo), and the Brits: Dan, Sophia, Declan, Anthony, (too many of them to name).
super low quality photos incoming
Maya, not the one who’s been brought up many times on my Substack, another Maya, likes to describe being in London as being in a la la dreamland, her reasons are stronger than mine (she found a British boyfriend), but I’d have to agree. I’m not the me I usually am, and the people don’t act like I would’ve thought they would at one point.
I’m in this really precarious position where my usual view of myself isn’t reflected in my perceived personality. It’s always hard for people to believe me when I say I’m on a journey to become more extroverted. Apparently, I’m already there. I’m so used to not being able to say much, even if I wanted to, or racked with a weird sense of anxiety and embarrassment. Especially at Smith, being in conversations with people I wanted to like and sitting in my silence because my brain refuses to synthesize thoughts. But I’ve realized that’s less of a problem with me and more of I just couldn’t fit into those pieces I wanted to. Smith College will never be enough for me, and it sounds a bit mean to say, but I’m appreciative of what it could give me, and in other ways, it would never be enough. I’ve come to terms with not feeling wanted there, feeling overextended, trying to be around people who I’m not sure we have much of a future together. My last year at Smith this coming fall will be many things. I expect to have no romance, because that’s the nature of my beast. I expect to spend less time with people, because I’m sick of the uncertainties when I’m sure I know the people who want to be around me, and that’s enough. And most of all, I expect it to end. So I have to enjoy it, because I’ll be happy to leave it, which is a crazy thing to say, because I have no clue what I’ll do after I graduate.
Stuck in my back and forth between the two majors I’ve chosen because there’s not much of a middle ground between Astronomy and English. But I know, no more small towns for me, and no more predominantly white lesbians. You remember how I said this was going to be my whore-mester, well like yes, I was over exaggerating and overzealous. I’ve been normal, I have kissed more people here than in my entire Smith career, which is why and how I know the problem is not me. Which is why I’m going to be in New York for the summer. I’m disillusioned enough not to count this move as a romanticization. New York is a place. A place where I can have my summer freedom, my 21st birthday with people that I like, an internship that will hopefully give me insight, and the stimulation of things that I know Maryland or Smith can't supply for me right now.
I’ve recently been so secure, it’s nice. I have this year, many times over, caught myself in a moment where I realized that I might be loved (is that too strong of a word?). Immense gratitude was felt when Vivian, Max, and Zoe helped me move my luggage down the stairs, when Declan (Brit) took the things I couldn’t throw away, and my calculator, which I hope he returned to Amazon. Obviously I’m still a person and I have doubts and insecurities—am I too loud right now? am I making sure people are comfortable? am I being considerate?—but I’m never worried about who does and doesn’t like me (until I am), it’s so great! to not have that wondering of words and actions not aligning. I’ve deeply learned to take people for what they are, and for the first time in my life, I haven’t experienced fomo, even in being alone.
Zoe really wants me to spill tea on here, and I would argue not much tea to spill, but I would kind of be wrong. But I won’t talk about the guys that I kissed, the grueling sickness that gave me an inhaler, or the interesting brits because I have nothing profound to say about it. Coming to London, I was set on this mission to get better at interacting with men (I’m fine with gay men) because Smith has severely messed with my socialization skills. I would like to say I succeeded, but I still accidentally find myself objectifying men and inadvertently flirting with them. Vivian likes to point out that I constantly sound like Amelia Dimoldenberg. Zoe doesn't like to believe I’m as into men as I say that I am, but it’s all whatever.
Speed run of things I did: I saw mannequin pussy again, and was at barricade for Kneecap, downloaded hinge and went on like three dates let a bum sleep over while I was traveling to Spain, promptly deleted hinge. Did karaoke, did not go to classes, went to many open decks with Zoe, did speed and ket for the first time (was supposed to do MDMA with Maya, rip), watched as my friends got interview by a tiktoker, poppers (again, but never again), Spain, Portugal, only got like throw up drunk twice, drunk texted, and gained like so many insta followers of people I might never see again.
But wait, we did see King Krule on the overground last month and it was the best and worst thing to happen to me. We didn’t talk to him because we were arguing about whether or not it was him. I spent many of the remaining weeks praying and actively trying to run into him again. I watched his saxophonist’s show, Galgo, and the girl he’s seeing (who is fine as hell) now follows me on insta. I met Kit Young at a pub (none of my friends but Sophie, who was there with be knew who that was) and went back to an afters at his friends place where I watched him and someone else do some glorious British drugs, I did the smallest amount—I felt nothing, he also follows me on insta now too. Arguably, the saddest part of my time in London is not seeing Kit Conner </3.
Anyways, tomorrow I will be leaving again, packing another bag for another city. I hope it goes well, hope it is a swell summer. Most of all, I hope to write about it, to have something to write about. Writing is fun when I don’t wait months and have huge thoughts that can only be stated generally, instead of as a funny anecdote. I’ll have to pick up habits I lost again. Writing music, journaling (writing 23 pages about Berlin burnt me out for months), and reading. Pray for me!
from my notes app (typos and all), suggested by Lia
5:40 pm
this is an experiment, a night out with me on Valentine’s day
i plan to get drunk, i plan to have fun and meet people those are all of my goals
i don’t know exactly what ill do tonight or who ill end up with. i’ve been to heaven too many times already. no more, i put my foot down
7:35 pm
i’ve asked nandi to pray for my success tonight
me and maya have decided to bar hop. i’ve asked both zoe and sophie what they’re doing tn, no response— will have to hope for the best
i’m racked with the throws that i have nothing to wear
i am dead sober
8:33 pm
i’m about to head out to take the tube to maya
i just groveled on the ground praying to god, the universe, guardian angel, and my ancestors for a good night out
i am drinking bad wine that i bought from the school store i feel nothing yet
8:56 pm
the tiniest of bit tipsy, i’m sitting in the overground waiting for the train to turn around again. i’ve decided to come out in my puffer and it’s so warm! but wow do i have broad shoulders — its a men’s xs. i’m thinking of changing seats
9:12 pm
still on the overground, zoe responded! she has a date with a guy named fish. how entertaining!
10:02 pm
a boy from class followed me on letterboxd, how did he find me
i lost my north face and i miss it dearly, i stole another coat. this is not good
i talked to maya’s guys he’s nice. i like him, his friend chatted me up does not like me [9], avoided me. rip no make out, no jacket im sad until im not [10]. the guy following me around scaryyyyyyy
not such a success
3:35 am
on the bus. night not a success so sad, no make out lost my jacket, got a new fracet butt it’s hugeeeee need to buy a new jacket 😔
valentine’s day not a success was stalked by a guy very scary very loser behavior but i liked the guy maya met, good night better luck next time
3:50 am
at maya’s dorm now,
reflections: this jacket i took instead is COMICALLY LARGE i took more L’s than i did W’s tn. fuck art he pinky promised me with thumb [11] to find me again and he avoided me. i can’t mourn over that i just think he’s a pussy should’ve been straight up. i met some really nice girls one just turned 40 she was telling me it’s not about the end because then you get disappointed which j was but it was about the journey but in the journey i lost my jacket and my scarf and maya also lost her scarf. in a perfect world one of the bouncers will call/text me in the morning telling me they found something but for now i go to sleep sad having lost a coat i barely had for a week
pray for me, my prayers don’t seem to be going in myself. also that guy chasing me around sooooooo creepy
songs from last night:
☆ Sierra Leone - Frank Ocean
☆ Blood Diamonds from Sierra Leone - Kanye
☆ Two Doors Down - Mystery Jets
☆ Iris - Goo Goo Dolls
☆ Hotel California - Eagles
☆ Sunny - Bobby Hebb
☆ Fill Me up Buttercup - The Foundations
☆ My Girl - The Temptations
[1] Same brand, taste different from America
[2] For context we were at a smaller simmons, the music was very good, from the 2000s but the people were not cute and very old. They were playing the apple bottom jeans and the whole place got excited. and when they said “shawty got low low low low low” all the old people went low! I did not expect this energy from white people.
[3] The line was very long, but maybe we should’ve given it a shot.
[4] As you can see, it was not more promising. Too many couples lots of making out in a way that’ was gross. We had to pay a cover and the drinks were expensive. Convinced we were surrounded by freshman that constantly wanted to start a woop. The people there were rude about shoving, not one excuse me.
[5] We got out of this by pretending Maya lost her scarf, foreshadowing..
[6] I also got a free rum and coke
[7] The music was so good! Seemed promising.
[8] He had an earring.
[9] I don’t know if I could fully say does not like me, he talked to me for a long long time. But he did leave me stranded. And after I found him again while running away from another guy who was desperately trying to get me to dance with him by pulling on my arm, he wouldn’t look at me so…
[10] Am still sad about it the next day.
[11] This is a sacred bond. I don’t trust people who break promises.
