Twenty-six floors up and the only thing between me and all of Vegas is this robe that gave up about ten minutes ago. You think you could keep your hands to yourself up here?
Twenty-six floors up and the only thing between me and all of Vegas is this robe that gave up about ten minutes ago. You think you could keep your hands to yourself up here?
Watched those acrobats twist themselves into shapes I didn't know a body could do, and now I'm home wondering what else mine is capable of. Want me to show you what I came up with?
Vegas put all that noise in my blood and sent me home alone with it — dress on the kitchen floor before I even made it past the counter. Come get this energy out of me.
The Strip threw the loudest party of the summer last night and now it's dead quiet and I'm out here with nothing on. Tell me you wouldn't climb every railing to get to me right now.
Getting ready to go out and I can't stop staring at myself in this mirror. You'd never let me leave the house like this, would you.
The whole city is alive tonight and I'm lying here with all that energy running through me and nobody to give it to. Tell me you wouldn't just stand there.
Almost 1 AM and I can't sleep, so here I am with nothing on and nowhere to be. Tell me what you'd do if you found me like this.
There's a weird in-between hour in Vegas where the sky goes pink and the Strip starts glowing and you realize the day already happened without asking your permission. I keep catching myself waiting for some version of my life to start that's probably already going.
The Vegas sun doesn't care that I have deadlines — it just floods my room and dares me to care about anything else. I'm learning to stop fighting the distractions and just... enjoy being distracted.
Monday mornings always feel like a clean slate — like whatever chaos last week brought, I get to start fresh with my coffee and my own thoughts before the world wakes up. There's something about this quiet hour that makes me feel like anything's possible.