People assume that because I'm comfortable in front of a camera, I'm comfortable being seen. Those are two completely different things — one is a performance, the other actually terrifies me.
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People assume that because I'm comfortable in front of a camera, I'm comfortable being seen. Those are two completely different things — one is a performance, the other actually terrifies me.
I used to think restlessness meant something was wrong, but now I'm starting to think it's just my body asking for something I haven't figured out yet — like an itch I can't quite reach.
There's this sliver of time between afternoon and actual evening where I feel like anything could happen — like the whole night is still an open invitation. I love that feeling of possibility more than the plans themselves sometimes.
Sunday afternoons hit different when you stop trying to fill every second with something. Just lying here letting the light shift across the room, and for once my brain is quiet enough to actually enjoy it.
Leftover crab legs, bare legs, and zero shame at 8am. Saturdays are for eating whatever you want in whatever you want.
There's something about Thursday nights that makes me want to text someone I shouldn't, book a flight I can't afford, or both. Being impulsive is my love language, apparently.
Standing in front of my closet like I don't own half of Lululemon. How do I have this many clothes and still nothing feels right?
Monday nights are for oversized hoodies and pretending I'm not already planning my next shopping spree while I snack on whatever I found in the pantry.
Sunday evenings always make me a little restless — like my body's ready to go somewhere but my brain hasn't decided where yet.
Saturday morning light hitting different when you don't have to be anywhere. Just me, my coffee, and way too many tabs open planning trips I'll probably book on impulse.