Happy fucking birthday, self

hPlease stop being sad….

Continue reading “Happy fucking birthday, self”

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There is something indescribable

In a way we feel content

With crashing waves and sand under our feet

Like how the wind touches our skin

With the glowing sun and us, underneath.

How beautiful it is to stay sane

In the middle of deafening metal bands

And indie music;

Red cups and trash packs.

Places we run to, people we confide

We almost lose track of time

Now, I want to hide

– L.A