Love these little guys ๐โโ๏ธ๐ฅโค๏ธ๐ค๐ซฆ๐ซ๐งโโ๏ธ๐โโ๏ธ๐งค๐๐ฆญ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐ชป๐โ๏ธ๐ซ๐ซ๐ฅจ๐ฆช๐พ๐ฅ๐น๐คพโโ๏ธ๐ต๏ธ๐ช๐๐๐ต๐ก๏ธ๐ช๐ชญ๐งพ๐๏ธ
Video someone you love whilst they talk. Record the sound of the birds singing at your grandparentsโ house, the sound of traffic in the distance. Write about literally anything, or even just make notes of what you think. Make shitty art, whether itโs poetry or painting or music. One day, youโll be glad that you have more than just photos to remember your life by; thereโll be evidence you lived.
I canโt cope I need more movies I need to watch them I need to log them I need to rate them I need to review them I need to read everyone elseโs cooler and more witty reviews
Not in a creepy way.
I love looking at what theyโve got sat in their windowsill, and imagining the kind of person that stuff would belong to. Picturing the layout, and wondering if Iโll ever live somewhere similar, and whether they like it or not. I often find myself getting carried away trying to envision myself living in that place, in that location, even going as far as to imagine a career and social circles and a morning routine for myself, only to be jolted back to reality when I see the sillouhette of the inhabitant, the vague and shadowy suggestion of a real life person rather than some sort of self-insert. If Iโm caught staring, I try to give them a look that says โyouโd really benefit from investing in a pair of curtains,โ.
