i like to think that if i knocked on the door of where i lived from birth to age 11, the people that live there now would just let me in without question. just bc it used to be my house.
something so comforting about waking up in the room you grew up in as a kid
itβs such a familiar yet distant view, like waking up to a past life - the posters, the books, the shelves lined with stuffed animals and random trinkets
will forever feel like the best place in the world despite its mundanity. i rarely go back to it but when i do i'm so shocked by how everything feels like that one day when i was four years old and the sky was so so blue and reflecting off the glass panels of this ginormous office
laying down very flat in bed after working my icky closing shift at my icky retail job feels so yummy. i can feel my individual spinal cords clicking back into place
