sometimes i wonder if my grandmother's old recipe for soup had magical properties because ever since i lost it, nothing tastes the same and it makes me feel guilty like i let her down, even if she never knew how much it meant to me.
sitting in my tiny apartment with peeling paint, scrolling through my friends' success stories on social media, like one just got a promotion with a salary that's double mine and another just bought a house, meanwhile i am over here working two part time jobs just to scrape by, feeling like my life is stuck in a loop and everyone else is living on fast forward.
it’s wild seeing my neighbors hosting game nights and laughing so loud while i just sit in my tiny apartment staring at a half-empty bottle of wine like it’s a performance piece or something. they all have plans and dreams and here i am, just thinking about whether the way my doctor looked at me means i should cut back on the wine or what...
it’s wild seeing my neighbors hosting game nights and laughing so loud while i just sit in my tiny apartment staring at a half-empty bottle of wine like it’s a performance piece or something. they all have plans and dreams and here i am, just thinking about whether the way my doctor looked at me means i should cut back on the wine or what...
i keep thinking about the time i was at a wedding and accidentally knocked over the cake while trying to get a better view of the dance floor. like the whole thing crashed to the ground and i just stood there in shock instead of helping, and now i can’t stop picturing everyone’s faces.