I’m almost 30
and just refound my tumblr. It’s midnight now but was ten 20 minutes ago.
11 years ago was a few months ago.
my twenties are ending, they burned fast and bright. I have enough life experience for a memoir at 29.
Only Flower remains the same.
Each year there’s more painful goodbyes.
I should have pulled those plugs years ago.
I’m getting better at letting go, mourning, grieving, seething -
my weakness is when.
I’m on track to be a few years late again. I’m a masochist.
I ran head first in to brick walls.
















