Spinsterood and bitterness....and nonsensical requirements.
Is it wrong for me to pine for a home? Because I do. One with high windows, and natural light far from the city. And filled with the smells of a shirt that hasn't been washed. Or shaggy hair on a pillowcase, whiskey and saliva and warmth.
Hermit. Loudmouth. Secret poet. Confirmed bachelorette. Shit-talker extraordinaire. Owner of a brain with sound synesthesia.
This is a free association brain barf journal. Read at your own risk. Or mine, rather.
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