Sickly studying the way about her. She is the real deal. Rock and roll in her household since she was born. Ink in her veins, doesn’t care if people see it, cares even less if they don’t. Her intentions are not faulty. That’s why he’s enamored. Her stillness and the way she weaves in and out and around people and days and all of it. And she’ll weave through life regardless. No fucks given at all. So that’s what he likes about her, and why I myself am a humiliating mess with clear faults in my intentions. The way I look around and plan my route before weaving in and out and otherwise through days and people and all of it. The way I test the waters or wonder if I fit the landscape. I myself am concerned with hollow and trivial things and I want to be art and be art forever without trying. But she… She was born pure and he can feel those vibrations. So he writes about her and no more about you.
“You are enough. Paint it on your mirrors, on the back of your eyelids, drown it in your stomach, sing it in every word you say. You are never too much. Eat your food, sleep eight hours, walk like you love yourself. You are enough. Say it in your sleep, mantras to carry you through your day. There is never enough of you. You are a thirst that is never quenched. I crave you when you’re away. I love every piece of you. But I cannot make you love yourself.”—Michelle K., You Are Enough. (via wethinkwedream)