Just be fucking honest about how you feel about people while you’re alive.
They’re the salt of the earth, those girls. They don’t sit each night and compare notes on groups, criticising lyrics, asking if it’s valid. They just play the record… yeah, and maybe they dance. I love them. I love them dearly.
You are beautiful because you let yourself feel, and that is a brave thing indeed.
you know what’s fucked up?
that you can be without someone for six months, a year, five years and have mastered not thinking about them, but no matter how much time passes there will always be that moment where you see a photo of them or catch a little of their cologne on a crowed street and suddenly you’re plagued with a rapidly sinking stomach and the relentless question, “what did i do wrong?”