Bright eyes in the west village. You won’t know until you get there. And you won’t feel until you’ve been inside it. One’s emotions are intensified here — one can be more happy but also more unhappy than in any other place. I used to know the names of every person I kissed here, now I’ve made a bed that’s hard to lay in. It used to be the traffic that kept me up at night, now it’s the howling dissatisfaction of my actions. Noise is like a lullaby. The silence is so much louder. All the coffee shops that leave you cold as ice. Switching cities every week just to see the people you love. I’ll never get anything right. I don’t care about money, I send postcards. I pray to the saints and my journal is split in two because I like it that way. The sense of presence is overwhelming. I feel alive everywhere, all at the same time. I am growing out of my skin and I have no way to stop it.
white crop top by Nastygal
sunglasses by Quay
bell bottoms by American Apparel
stud bag by Michael Kors