the trouble is, you think you have time
“the trouble is, you think you have time.” .buddha
“the trouble is, you think you have time.” .buddha
that constant, paranoid, choking feeling
is my burden. my daily struggle.
my inability to stop thinking and just breathe.
I wanted to be a rockstar. Dance on stage. Wear flowing dresses, stacked jewels, and sparkly jetsam. I wanted to play the fuck out of a guitar. A pink guitar. And I wanted to sing. At the top of my lungs. From the bottom of my gut. But as the Stone’s remind us, we can’t always get what we want.
Stay gold. two words. Eight letters. Representing the underlying philosophy of my entire existence.
“well, now that we have seen each other,” said the unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, i’ll believe in you.” .lewis carroll ‘through the looking glass’
through the looking glass: greenport, li
We sat on the couch eating sushi as Pope Francis delivered mass to nearly 20,000 humans at Madison Square Garden Friday night. My mister and I sat, shoveling shumai in our faces and cried at the beauty of it all.
i’m going to keep this short and sweet, just like the groom. actually, i’m not. those of you that were at my wedding and heard my vows know you better get comfortable.
her fingers got fat near the end
in another lifetime she perched me on the kitchen table
slid her thumb and forefinger through the scissors
and snipped my bangs brutally short
He was straight laced and corny, with a penchant for expensive shoes and designer gifts. He had abominable taste in music and wore copious amounts of khaki. He golfed. I told him dirty jokes while slamming whiskey and dragged him to rock shows in filthy dive bars. I wore skintight denim and had his birthday tattooed on my wrist.