I am 19. I can give injections and I'm trained to handle weapons, but my parents won't let me keep a cat for a day in the house. I said house.
Oh, and you know what really bugs me? Living things. What's up with respiration and like, consciousness? It's ANNOYING. CUT IT OUT ALREADY.
Well hello I am very young and angsty this evening.
I will promise to make you an amazing tomato salad and then deliberately forget. Because my heart is a black pencil scrawl — that much provisionary, that much half-assedly formed.
I love my grandparents. So much.
Puritans are hysterical.
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