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𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒓𝒚. 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆, 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏. 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑰 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒖𝒍𝒈𝒂𝒓 – 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒏; 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒅, 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕.

𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒃 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒅𝒆𝒘𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚, 𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒚’𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑰 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆; 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓.

𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 – 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚.

like when we were kids under chemtrails and

country clubs

I wish I could just stay in my head all day

ᶜ'ᵉˢᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵃᵐᵒᵘʳᵉᵘˣ

Me and him

It's not fair

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒆𝒃𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒑 𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒅 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒔𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍 – 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒄𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉. 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔; 𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏? 𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔.

𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖; 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆. 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖; 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅.

𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅; 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚, 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒚 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒆. 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒃 – 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕. 𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏, 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 – 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏; 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅.

𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔, 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒕. 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏 – 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

“𝙈𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝙇𝘼;

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧”

maybe we can go to the 7-Eleven

drive down the main drag in your Pontiac Heaven

you can drink and drive, whatever you want to

we'll get right down to it, me and you, boo

jonathan, call again

take me to Coney Island

take me on the train

𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 – 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏? 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚? 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉; 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝑰 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒑 𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒔.

𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒖𝒏𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒑, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 – 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆, 𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚, 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎; 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 – 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓; 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔, 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒈𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐. 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 – 𝑰 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒅. 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆; 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕.

𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔, 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒎𝒚 𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒔, 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒊𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒐𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒕; 𝒕𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆. 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆, 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 – 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓. 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 – 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒆.

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒅; 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕. 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕? 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒔, 𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆; 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕, 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉, 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒋𝒐𝒚 – 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒈𝒐.

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚, 𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒇𝒖𝒍, 𝒅𝒐𝒑𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕, 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔, 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒆𝒅, 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅. 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 – 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒔; 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒔, 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒄𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕, 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅, 𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔. 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

cecilia lisbon aesthetic 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

and i don’t wanna think i’m wrong

just for feeling pretty