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300(ish) Words on Michael Kors Leg Shine
I’m walking around with legs shining like chubby, prickly disco balls in the Texas summer sun.
I’m walking around with legs shining like chubby, prickly disco balls in the Texas summer sun.
I like to think of a quietly dropped heaven (not purgatory!) where two episodes of a podcast idea, a well-intentioned weekly game night, or a writer’s group that met up four times all exist clumsily and excitedly together.
You’re 8 years old sifting through your closet of glitter-encrusted handbags, metallic threaded scarves, and Limited Too T-shirts printed with slogans like “Girls rule, boys drool” and “Life of the party.”
All the athleisure might be a symbol of something crumbling, yet I can't stop wearing my Nike Dry Tempo shorts for sex and sport.
It's like a conspiracy theorist YouTube channel with consequences that feel Grecian in their capacity for tragedy, but Netflix picked it up giving it (or at least you, the viewer) credence.
The mall-after-dark aesthetic drunkenly insists on its own allure and kicks open a trapdoor to an unfettered world...
I know that I am not a gamer and that I don’t play games. But I do play Purple Diver.
Frappuccinos are the first taste of freedom.
I’m a picker. I pick my chronically dry lips. I pick at my nails, then bite my nails a bit to get a better angle…to pick them off cleanly. I find gross reminders of myself in the places where I’m alone in my truest form or feeling mild-level stress: around... Read More