It’s a crazy thing to wonder if your best friend needs you as much as you need them

Jealousy isn’t a good color on you.

Oh, I’m sorry
is my inner bitch making you uncomfortable?

Maybe stop being a dumbshit and this wouldn’t be an issue

It’s strange, making a photograph of someone.
You sit with their image, hours after the shoot.
You work with it, burn here, dodge here, fill there, color correct, etc, etc, etc.
And you stare. You gape. At the flecks of color in their irises, the curvature of their lips, the rounded edges of their shoulders, the ledges of their collarbones
And you really feel like you’re spending time with them.
In a way, unconventional yet visceral in every aspect. With no words to create misunderstandings
Your eyes take in the minute details of their face, their smile, their eyes.
And you really begin to feel like you know them

So, if you ever pose for a photograph and the next time you see the photographer, you feel as though they’re being overly familiar with you, understand this: They do know you. Better than the people you encounter everyday at work, at school. They know you because they’ve spent time intimately surveying your face, creating their art, doing what photographers do - seeing you.

I work hard and I get shit done.
I also chart out my time appropriately so I have time to get shitty wasted on the weekends.

I’m twenty-two and I firmly believe that these years can be the best years. I hope they’re not, that the best lay ahead but I’m damn well going to enjoy myself:)

I’m proud of the fact that all five people I’ve last photographed are using an image I created as their profile defaults:)

All I gotta do is wake up tomorrow morning and do even better.
Rinse, repeat.

Short of a variation of “I saw that photograph you took,”
“Nice tan, by the way” is like, my favorite thing to hear ever.

I’m such a fucking suave liar when I’m drunk.
And so much more fierce. I wish I could channel that badassery when sober.

I pride myself on being a fucking good wing woman.
T’was a good damn weekend, y’all.
One of my favorites of the year
 

The Phenomenon

You know when you are first startled by something beautiful. You are in awe. Astonished that something could exist in that perfect balance- that tension between real and imagined. But the longer you stare, your vision clears. You see cracks, flaws, blemishes. The flawless becomes so obviously flawed and the beautiful becomes damned, like the rest of us. Mere mortal and inherently faulted.

I think love at first sight but persisting love is when you keep staring. And that phenomenon of clarity breaking perfection never occurs. 

I keep looking, looking, seeing. Everything changes, but nothing changes. Before my eyes is still perfection.  

And I won’t rest until I have it. (What makes you different?) 

I have no interest in those who have no interest in me

It’s been okay I think I’m doing fine then your picture pops up on my news feed and goddamn if you’re not the prettiest thing still and I feel the walls of my chest constrict and I wonder to myself “goddamn why are you not still in his arms, feeling those pretty lips place perfect kisses across your skin” and I sigh. I sigh hard

He was in love with the idea of her
Unfortunate for him, ideas eventually meet reality and their deaths are often caused by that direct contact.

Can you come over so we can make out?

He look(ed)s like Nate Schierholtz. But hot even without the hat on.

If you think you can guilt me into feeling bad for not giving a shit, you forget that where my heart should be there’s just a blackened piece of wood and bitches don’t feel bad.

Sorry I’m not sorry

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