why does being in your 20s feel like being the one who yells “marco” in marco polo except everyone yelling “polo” is standing outside of the pool and you’re just kind of treading water/drowning alone in the deep end?

i just ordered $30 worth of stickers. i am so excited to slap them all over my sketchbook and then worry about if i placed them correctly and possibly regret it forever.

ok but what if we were two stuffed animals that lived in the same bed?

your email found me unwell

can’t and won’t elaborate—today, i feel like a beached whale.

internally? i’m him. externally? i’m her.