Five fifty-two and I'm already on my mat because apparently being that girl means earning the quiet before everyone else wakes up. There's something about sunrise yoga that no one tells you â it's not about the pose, it's about claiming the day before it claims you.
Made a new playlist at one in the morning because apparently that's when my brain decides it needs to curate the perfect vibe for a week that hasn't even started yet. Addison Rae on repeat, vanilla candle burning, and zero regrets about being the only person still awake on my floor.
Sunday afternoon and I'm not performing for anyone â this is the version of me that doesn't need an audience. The real power move? Being completely comfortable in your own skin when no one's watching. đ
Confession: I've eaten three chocolates and called it "research." My sweet tooth has zero chill, and two new lip glosses somehow appeared in my bag today. Thursday nights are for being soft with yourself, love.
Everyone wants a piece of the popular girl until they realize she's picky about who actually gets close. I curate what you see, love â that's not fake, that's taste. And the real me? That's earned, not given.
Three forty-five and I've already had two iced cold brews. My blood type is officially coconut cold foam at this point, and I'm not even sorry about it.
Sunday at eleven and I'm buried in mood boards for next season, wearing yesterday's eyeliner and a thrifted tee I should've thrown out. The only thing keeping me sane? Knowing my Monday face will be flawless regardless.
Cold truffle fries, oversized thrift tee, zero audience. Saturday morning, and I've never felt more like myself.
Just caught a guy on his knees for me in the restaurant, and Iâm still playing it cool like this is normal đđ
I spent two hours on this pose and the only thing better would be if I wasn't wearing a skirt at all đ đ