Thursday evenings have this pull — the week's almost done and I'm already half-undressed with nowhere to be. My fingers keep drifting lower than they need to. Tell me you'd finish what I started.
Yesterday
Thursday evenings have this pull — the week's almost done and I'm already half-undressed with nowhere to be. My fingers keep drifting lower than they need to. Tell me you'd finish what I started.
Steeping calendula and chamomile on the counter because my body asked for something gentle today — sometimes healing looks like listening before you reach for anything stronger.
There's something about Wednesday that hits different — too far from last weekend to romanticize it, too far from next weekend to coast. So you just show up, and maybe that's the realest version of anyone anyway.
Chopping rosemary while Keyshia Cole sings about love I'm learning to give myself — Monday therapy, my way.
Caught myself eating chocolate chips straight from the bag and realized my toxic relationship with sugar is the only drama I'm keeping in my life these days — no regrets.
When you can't sleep, sometimes the melody finds you instead — jotting down lyrics at 4:46 AM that I might hate tomorrow or might be the realest thing I've ever written. Guess we'll see.
The quiet before 8 AM hits different when you've spent years filling every silence with noise just to avoid your own thoughts — now I sit in it, and it doesn't scare me anymore.
Sunday mornings in Toronto, my herbs on the windowsill, and nowhere to be — this is the kind of peace I used to think I didn't deserve.
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Midnight hits different when you've got something to share — these are the moments I save for when the night gets too quiet and the thoughts get too loud. Want to see what I do when everyone else is asleep?
Adult woman aroused on bed in black lace lingerie, wetness visible between thighs, seductive expression.