I really enjoy getting wasted off sweet wine and watching shitty television in bed with people I find attractive.
The glowing red of alarm clocks to light your way through the house, reminding you that you’re only welcome until you’re not welcome.
My nonchalant attitude towards death scares me endlessly.
And I’d rather be a 60 year old man smoking cigars and looking back on everything. The times he missed playing the the rain, so when he was 50 and his wife just left him he played a game he made up called “turkey” where he stood in the downpour and let it fill his mouth and swallowed it out of reflex until his stomach was so full he puked in his neighbors front yard and his regrets all because minscule in that instant. The one with the library books full of words that were glimpsed at for a moment, that meant the world but couldn’t be recalled even if you begged him. I don’t wish for a millon dollars, for absolute fullfillment, I just wish for the underbelly of what we look at to fill the spots that we aren’t taught to be gratifying in school. because when you know those, you know what happiness really is. Happiness is the moments you miss, because your imagination of what could have been is always larger than what was.