Best. Day. Ever.

I found a home.. Home!
I danced the night away. A pretty crossdresser complimented my clothes. I smiled and people smiled back. I danced with Wess and we boogied.
That was awesome. "Do it again" says the brain.
I wanted it to never end.

Become Color Blind

I find an extreme importance in color blindness.
Because you need to stop assuming there is a difference.

I look at the 'not specified' in a race statistic of a school, and I'm almost disappointed. Because then I don't know whether or not the admission is color blind. Or maybe not even that; I more don't know how well we are doing in becoming color blind. Or perhaps I just enjoy a visual image. Which creates an irony. Because in the perfect world, there would be no need to specify race.
You can specify what country you are from, because it provides some cultural information. You can provide maybe information like, how many siblings you have. But what race you are being separated is the most ridiculously pointless thing there is on this planet today.

Which is why the word 'multicultural' sometimes makes me very angry. Why? Because it acknowledges color as a part of culture.
Which it is not.

You know why? Not every asian in USA is from Asia. Not every hispanic speaks Spanish at home. Not every American is connected to their US heritage.
In the United States, it is safe to say, that we are all American. And for that reason, because we have come from so many places in our ancestry, we should notice color the least.

Why? Because it does not say one thing about a person.
You cannot determine how someone will act based on their race. It would be ridiculous to assume that someone who looks like they are from outside the US are indeed from outside the US. So why do we still act like races for some reason are separate in their cultures? In a way that is similar enough to be separated into simple categories?

I'm proud to say, I don't notice or care about race. I don't notice it. I notice how you dress, how you act. I am very annoyed that no one catches on that this is important.
Instead, we have people trying to amplify their race. Separate. Minority.
We do need to fight against racism and against minorities being treated differently. But one step forward and backward is those who accentuate their race as an important fact of their lives.

We should not respect different cultures based on race. We shouldn't assume anyone's culture based on their race. We shouldn't have races that have groups, because races shouldn't hang out with only each other, and they shouldn't act like they have everything in common.
Because they don't. Just like I have very little in common with the white person next to me.

This is something people need to start doing. Don't notice race. Don't talk about it. Don't think of people as things besides individuals. You can describe them visual by their race, and that's it. Just like I can point out someone who is blond. But it says nothing about them, their culture, their heritage, or their personality.
So don't assume a thing. You won't know until you meet them.

That is an important world to make. It's not important to have evenly balanced races attending schools. It's important to allow a variety of cultures into schools, and to not discriminate against different cultures. A person is not related to their race. So Universities making it easier for different races to get in is ridiculous. Because I don't think that race makes anyone different from each other.
So it's just buying more into racism.

Get me?

Yesterday, and Today, and Social Anxiety Disorder

Yesterday, I went to the DMV to get my ID for my age 21ness.
It was really funny, because after the three hours I had my photo taken, and it turned out really nice. The DMV lady said she could tell I was 'an angel'. She says she sees a lot of people and how they act and she repeated at least 3 times that she was certain I was an angel (in context of personality).
I kind of liked that, because I don't hear anyone say anything like that, so if people do find me to be a kind person, I frankly have no idea. My thoughts lead people to thinking I'm a mean or blunt or crass person, which I am inside sometimes but I would never hurt someone with it. So it's nice to see that it's at least noticeable that I wish to be kind, and overall probably am. Because I'm kind because I wish more people were, and also for the benefit of others. And because I legitimately care about how people feel, even to a neurotic extent.

Today I was cutting thick paper, a delicate design from a greeting card, and a small triangle piece snapped off and ricocheted into my eye. Terrifying. I was scared it stabbed it. Wess was there for an emergency paper-in-eye retrieval, thankfully. I'm not an injury prone person so that scared me. The first time I burned my finger months back was completely traumatizing.

I'm touched today. I feel like I'm a faker when I tell people I have social anxiety disorder. Because they act like I'm overstating. And because it's so normal for me. Also, I don't have panic attacks, which is a lucky break. Anxiety feels like it's just like breathing. I have this etiquette that feels like any normal human would have. Guilt that is not very normal, but the feeling of this anxiety is not even describable anymore. I don't know which parts are normal and abnormal.
So when I read about social anxiety disorder, my heart jumps. Because I'm amazed. That's me!

From wikipedia, the best at summarizing, my heart jumped!:

In cognitive models of social anxiety disorder, social phobics experience dread over how they will be presented to others. They may be overly self-conscious, pay high self-attention after the activity, or have high performance standards for themselves. According to the social psychology theory of self-presentation, a sufferer attempts to create a well-mannered impression on others but believes he or she is unable to do so. Many times, prior to the potentially anxiety-provoking social situation, sufferers may deliberately go over what could go wrong and how to deal with each unexpected case. After the event, they may have the perception they performed unsatisfactorily. Consequently, they will review anything that may have possibly been abnormal or embarrassing. These thoughts do not just terminate soon after the encounter, but may extend for weeks or longer.[8] Those with social phobia tend to interpret neutral or ambiguous conversations with a negative outlook and many studies suggest that socially anxious individuals remember more negative memories than those less distressed.

Every single sentence. Every single sentence.
I stress out for weeks. It never ends. I trip a little in front of someone.. For most that memory stays a day, for me, it lasts years. It never stops.
If I feel like I've hurt or offended someone, the guilt never leaves.

Work and work

I have a lot to do. A lot of homework. I 'caught up' with all my math, which is unusual for me. But in the end I'm not exactly caught up. I was absent Friday, so I missed that assignment, which was a handout. So I couldn't do that. Also, I want to retake my first test, but I haven't had time to do that.
In Japanese on the other hand.. I have to study all my kanji tonight and memorize it. Ahhh. And then I have to write a paper, do 6 pages of homework, and study for the Japanese exam. Ahhhhh.
I don't think I could have survived another class this quarter. So I did make the right choice. I hope I can even keep up with this.

I hope I can still have fun and celebrate those days, and won't be exhausted and behind.

Changes

Ok, sorry, I lied. Yesterday I didn't write. But I really wanted to. I had an uneventful day, didn't I? I can't even remember. How strange. I just remember I slept in late. And had a better day. I did all the dishes finally. It took forever.
Today was an even nicer in some ways. Although I have growing anxiety as the evening wears on. It's already 1 am nearly. And I do need to study for Japanese. Kanji quiz.
Today I talked to a friend I've been sort of avoiding the past few weeks. The one who spurred the whole 'avoid people' thing. I felt kind of relieved when she wished me a happy birthday, even though she got confused and thought my birthday was on V-day. That was kind of funny. I was worried that she didn't care enough to try to apologize or something. I saw her today, I feel better and better about it.
I'm happy to see her, because despite her problems she is always so nice.
And I feel good being able to legitimately make someone feel better, or be helpful. She got me a birthday present, which was thoughtful. And I like it, which is better yet. Kind.
I think she's the only one I really feel rather comfortable with most of the time. So I'm glad to know her. I always wanted to be friends with her, so I'm glad I know her better now.
My stomach hurts.
I'm really excited but now I feel really nervous. I wish I could be excited about something without an impeding sense of doom. I think the anticipation is too much. For my birthday and about her. Because I'm worried about what will happen with her, on Sunday. Will she change her mind, or follow my advice and what she wants? I hope for her sake that she does it, and I hope that is the right thing for her. I think once it happens, she can't go back, so I hope it's the right choice. I know it would be for anyone, but I can't know for sure how it will change her life. I really am confident that it is the right thing, but I just hope it doesn't go terribly. Because it could, when you have so many people who are convinced what she is leaving is the right thing. But they seem too cowardly to be direct. After all, they haven't admitted to her face the things they talk about behind her back. So it'd probably be the same if she left.

I feel rather excited for my birthday tomorrow. 21st. Not most for tomorrow, but for Thursday and Saturday. Since I was in my preteens-teens I've wanted to be able to go to these places. Vogue and Neighbors, to be specific. I love to dance. I haven't gotten to dance since middle school. I don't think I actually ever went to a high school dance. Or did I? I don't even remember. If anything only freshman year. I think there was one. It's the only social thing I can stand to do, that I feel passion when doing. I'm hoping that these places stay a long time, this will only be the first time I can finally go. Apparently you can dress up. And people aren't weird about it. And you can dance, no matter how bad you are at dancing.. and no one will stare. Oh that sounds heavenly. And I get to go with my husband, so even if it ended up being uncomfortable, I would have someone to be around. My mom is taking us.

I'm really tired for some reason. I don't wanna study.

My husband is making me a cake tonight. And my mom bought me my choice of Ben and Jerry icecream. I chose peanut butter cup flavor.
This feels kind of... Ordinary today. Maybe because I don't have anything to whine about today? Well, besides the 'partment being a mess. Oh, I need to choose what to wear for Vogue and Neighbors. That's so exciting. I can dress up and have a ball.

Venusian finds Venus? A place to be comfortable, perhaps? I hope I'm not disappointed. But in the end, no matter how terrible the music was, how mean my peers were, or if no one danced... I had the time of my life at the school dances. So I think a legitimate place to dance with people who want to dance.. will be nice.

I'm going to see if I can order alcohol at the restaurant. How fun. Inconvenient is, your ID card expires on your 21st birthday. But I can't get a new one on the holiday, so what can I do? It does have 'turns 21 on---' date on it, so I think that will count, right? That doesn't change even when I update it, so it should be legitimate.

Oh, I'm really scared because, I can't find my charm bracelet. When I went through that fucking shit ass time because of those assholes...
OH wait, that reminds me. I have a comeback for sexual harassment now. At least, something to say as opposed to a deer-in-the-headlights look. "I'm sure you say that to your blowup doll too" or "I'm sure women find you attractive when you act like a RAPIST". (loudly)
That will be nice.

Anyway, when I went through that shit time... I had to pack all my belongings so quickly. I had no time to short through valuables and make sure everything was there. All I could do is make sure nothing was left in that hellhole.
So I don't know where it is. It could be lost. It could be shoved in a box. It's not in my lockbox or anywhere I've looked.
That thing is worth a lot. In memories and money. I've made a point to only add 14k gold charms on there. Because it makes it more of a treat to add one. And it is pretty. So I'm scared about that. I want to find it so I can get it off my mind.

Wess(hussband) just made me take a shot with him for my 21st birthday. Ouch. At least he's not going to like, punch me 21 times, like the.. manly way.
Alcohol makes me feel like I have to pee. Anyone share that sentiment? Oh that's a really annoying feeling. Also it makes my chest kind of hurt. Or maybe just my lower throat. But I guess, well, it is vodka.

Oh how nice, my period ending in time for my birthday.

Speaking of things you don't want to know about, did you know that I'm a huge part of the anti-bra 'movement'?
I hate bras. They are nice for the unfortunate accidental see-through shirt, but otherwise worthless devices from the evil Victorian age.
Breast cancer. Boobs. Bras. See a connection?
Do a little research, it will prove interesting. But I can't promise I'm actually right. I don't really know if the research proves it well enough. But it's something to ponder about. Either way, boobs sag with and without bras. And bras actually enhance back problems for the busty, well, it moves it to the shoulders and causes major posture problems, because it's unnatural for the weight to be held by the shoulders. I definitely condone bras while jogging, because that's downright painful. But otherwise, burn them!

I would love my nipples to not have a social stigma.
Especially when there are clothes over them. Do I really need to wear more to hide the fact that they exist? Sigh. Unless my clothes are see-through. That's bad.

I would love to get 'wasted' with my husband sometime, if I can experience one moment without stifling anxiety and unhappiness, that would be grand. I would never rely on it, but I really want to at least experience it once. I don't intend on dealing with my problems via alcohol or any prescribed medications. Therapy, because that would be the only permanent fix that would eventually be free. Because I would stop needing help eventually, I hope.

The cake is in the oven. I will have to thank his friend (I avoid names just in case, even when I know them). I will have to thank his friend because it's sweet that he went through the trouble to help me find a cake. And I will have to have him thank his grandma, I stole the recipe. Well, Wess did. He even scanned it, how nice. And asked for a translation of the granny-cursive.
I forgot to buy strawberries to put on the cake, but I think the recipe will be good. I hope it's not too rich. But maybe that 'dairy free whipped topping' will help. Haha. I don't usually use that stuff. We shall see how it turns out. I bought cute candles. I think 21 is a big deal. So I intend to celebrate it nicely.

I think my mom bought me a tennis racket for my birthday. How exciting. And my mother in law is so kind. I can't believe she wanted to spend that much money on me.

Today, my birthday, tanjoubi, I will try to forget about worrying about how we're poor and can't afford rent. It's enjoyable celebrating like normal, with my mom buying cake ingredients. Even more fun because it doesn't have to be a surprise, we can choose my cake together.
My dad is bringing us to a place with nostalgia. When I was engaged, my teacher recommended a seminar by a famous marriage psychologist. He was having a talk about successful marriages. So my dad brought me all the way there to drop me off, and we ate beforehand at the best Thai restaurant I've ever been to. The food looked so boring, but then everything you taste there is absolutely glorious. So I was bugging him to go again, and apparently he planned to bring me today. So nice.

I watched a documentary called Wheedle's Groove a few days ago. It was inspiring. It gave me a lot of pride for where I live. And it made me crave dancing even more. I wish there would be a revival of soul music and everything else old like that. I need to go to a disco or a soul night or a 50's big band dance. Heart aflutter for you.

At 3pm 'today' we'll be going out.
I love the number 21.
I listened to the voice message on post secret, the one from the dead grandma. It said 'happy 21st birthday'. That kind of freaked me out, because I didn't really read what it was, and it didn't say which birthday year it was from, so it was a strange coincidence. Kind of sweet, someone also wishing me a happy birthday from the other world.

I love me. I love me. I love me.
I just can't stand looking through my eyes. I always feel melancholy, even at the end of a happy day. Happy days end. Like a long vacation. But it is a breath of fresh air to have one, for once.
I am happy to be me even though I hate being me. So it's hard really to know how to feel. I'm sure some people feel the same as I, I just hope someone can help me. Or I can help myself.
Maybe I revel in sadness. Or fake sadness. A story isn't interesting without struggle. Maybe I can find that brightness in my life. It could make a good story, even if it's painful to walk through, sometimes. A muddy white dress. Trek through mud up to your knees, lift your skirt to wade through it, stain some. But then wash it away, with only a hint left behind. But another muddy day to come. But it makes an interesting picture. A pretty picture.

I've been watching Madoka and Darker than Black (anime). I revel that darkness myself. Is it weird for some people to love sad stories? Sometimes. I didn't like Illusionist, after all. That was too much of reality for me. (the animated feature)

I kind of fantasize my husband going with me this birthday cross-dressed. Too bad. I wish I had the willpower to exercise. I can't even get myself to for 5 minutes a day. I think something's wrong with me, there. That doesn't make sense. Also, I eat sweets all day if I can, and eat a lot. So I'm not a very good example. I hope he can lose weight and I can get stronger. I'd love to be able to beat the shit out of someone who harasses me, or to at least know I have the power to. Just in case, so I don't have to feel nervous alone. That would be a thing of pride for me. I guess I need to learn to work hard. I don't feel like I can stand working hard on anything. I lose energy so quickly. If he lost weight, he would be able to fit into girl clothes and go out rather cute. Even in a girl's top he'd be pretty cute. I bought him some, XL size I think. Just one size down, come on, we can do it.

He'd look really cute in casual girl stuff. It'd be nice to have someone in this 'open minded' city doing something about the terrible gender boundaries. It would be nice to have a man wearing girl's clothing without looking like a sex-item. Just, casual.
Apparently, Japanese fashion is feminine. For men also.
I downloaded manga art scans from Lovely Complex (the thing the picture is from), and Otani is wearing adorable gloves and striped scarves and cute colorful things. I would love it in our culture. I would love if men were a bit more interesting, frankly.

I'm glad my husband is interesting.

I would feel more comfortable if I was like Mary Poppins and could just request everything to put itself away. Because then I could finally bring my belongings over here from my parents' house. I realized that my favorite collage scissors were still over there, and brought them back finally. It made me realize, I have so much I still haven't brought back home.
I finally put up our shelf yesterday. We didn't have nails to put anything up.

Fuck them for making us move so quickly. After the temperamental lies. Three months to move my fucking ass. I wouldn't have agreed to do it if I knew that was a conditional statement. I told you clearly, I want time to move in case ANYTHING GOES WRONG. That includes us deciding the situation not being right for us. And you said ok. So fuck you once again. There's only one person I will never forgive, now. I'm glad it's not one of my friends.

Last time we put up that shelf, he used... screws. And that was foolish. If I had known, I wouldn't have helped him put his fragile collectibles up. Stomp stomp from upstairs, and then crash, one of the screws comes out and all of his porcelain figures, all 12 or so, slide off of the shelf and shatter to pieces. Just minutes after we put them there.
That was a horrible moment.
I'm so glad I learned from my moving experience to California (which broke my favorite belongings), that nothing is not worth salvaging. I glued those little bastards back together, including every microscopic piece I could find. And they look great again, even though some were obliterated. We didn't have to even look for one replacement. I'm really happy I could save him from that awful moment. It feels so good to be able to make something better. I'm proud of that.

I feel like kissing something, better grab Wess.

I feel indecisive about how I'm feeling. I think that happens when I'm tired.

Hm. I think I actually ran out of my thoughts. I feel like laying down on my keyboard. But that might mess this up.
It might be fun to do Jane Fonda's exercise tape.
And eat rice cakes with peanut butter. Not cool rice cakes, the dry kind. It'd be fun to know how to make mild asian snacks. And maybe try that new cereal we bought.

Heartbreak

I vow to write here every day as long as I am not asleep all day or huddled in a corner. Even if no one ever reads it.
I think I also vow to use an image from Lovely Complex each day to express my feeling.
It's really cold, my hands are cold.
My 21st birthday is coming up. I'm not excited anymore, that bums me out.
I feel like I have nothing to say anymore. I used to be full of words.
I feel like I could do anything and it wouldn't make me happy. So I don't really know what's wrong with me.
I decided to close the doors to my friend. But I feel like a hypocrite, because two want to see me soon. I don't really want to see them. I do but yet I don't feel happy.. with them. My two closest friends have hurt me. I don't know who to trust anymore. I want to open up like a blossom, a lotus perhaps. I want to be as colorful as I feel on the inside. Seeing the world as it is, I see that I wouldn't be able to live a peaceful life as myself. Not even here, an open place.
I hate the words of others.
In my world, venusian. As I said. Paint my face blue. No comments. No compliments. Just bliss.
The only thing that makes me happy is fake romance. I feel like rolling around happily when I look at those things. But then I feel a deep sense of depression because, why am I not looking at us, ourselves, our love, and feeling that? Why do I have to look at fake romances, at other people in love, to feel that lovely sense of bliss?

I feel like I can't speak aloud without feeling incredulous. That's not the right word, honestly. It just sounds like a good sound for what I'm trying to say. I can't speak aloud without feeling doubtful, pensive, and hidden.
I'm suddenly extremely uncomfortable with any sign of affection. It feels like a joke, or an insult. It feels like a slap to the face. It feels embarrassing. I can't swallow it. I can't even stand to hear it. I don't want to laugh at the compliment. It makes it more of a lie.
And yet I crave some sort of closeness. I crave help, attention, love. But love sitting next to you feels like a joke. Love sitting apart feels half-assed. I feel jipped. I feel like I'm being teased.
Wave affection in front of me, try to force me to smile. When what I want is true affection. I feel deficient in vitamin<3. Yet I also crave this alone delving, some cave jumping, spelunking into my heart and soul. Maybe because I've sailed through life for the past year in a hectic frenzy of unhappiness and detached from self. Because of the things that have happened.
I feel like there has been no time to know you, without the pretense of discomfort. Yours or mine. I don't know you so I don't know how to take your laughs or pokes of glee. Of affection. I know what you say, I don't believe you are lying. But something in me doesn't believe in it at all. I believe in my love but I feel so alone sometimes. But I don't even think it's your fault.

I feel embarrassed to blame you. I give you enough to deal with. You are overwhelmed. To tell you that nothing is enough is all I've ever said. So I can't make it worse by saying everything else is never enough as well.

It's damned cold in here.

The thing is, you could affection the hell out of me. But it won't matter, and it won't change it. Because it won't mean anything. The brush of a hand, foot, the compliment or the thing I've grown to despise, a reference to our romantic past in form of nostalgia. It makes me angry to hear a lovesong we used to listen to. Because it doesn't have the same meaning today as it did then. And I want it to, I want you to make it to. But there are no moments left to make memories of, there are no moments or connections with those things that make me feel warm inside anymore. Nothing new is created.
I want to kick apart this desk, sometimes. I want everything around me to be with you. I want every chair to be two-person, I want every table to be in enough proximity to be pressed against you. I want to eat sitting in your lap and I want you to be awake whenever I am in bed with you.
Maybe it's withdrawal symptoms.

Every word feels tense in my throat. I don't even understand why. I think it's because every moment, I feel heartbroken.

And you'll just complain about me being weird.

If I'm a freak I don't care. I just want to get what I want. I want security, happiness, safety, warmth. Even if I have to get it an obsessive, stalker, neurotic retard way that is not normal in any aspect of reality, in any reasonable sense.

Yet I don't feel comfortable in your arms, sometimes. Maybe because I reflect on this weirdness. Weird feeling.

If you just
If you just hold on to me
It would make me happy
If you just hold on to me
I won't feel so empty
With our eyes closed tightly
Just as close as we can be

Like a rainbow made just for me
Oh, these times were precious to me

We would build these happy things
I'd close my eyes and make believe
Like in summer, all the leaves
Blew and all would fall down the stream

Over-running before the fall
And I can't feel
And I can't sleep
And I can't hear
And I can't see

And if I never feel again
And if this is truly the end
Then you better say goodbye

But I loved you
Just wanted you to know
I'm so sorry I never told you so
September, Cranes

No gifs huh?

Damn.

Happy Valentine's Day

What Comes

I don't really talk to anyone right now.
Another friend hurt me. I gain one back, I lose another.
Hey Renan, what happened to you, I wonder? It was nice having a reader, I do admit. Weird but nice.
But I didn't lose my friend because they hurt me. They hurt him. She hurt him. All my friend seem to want to destroy my husband. I can't figure out why. They seem to think he deserves it.
Pervert. Shit bag. That's what she said.
I hate everyone because no one is open minded. No one can get their head out of their ass long enough to be spoken to openly.
I have no secrets. The only secrets I have are ones that would get me arrested. But I still think of myself as the most morally pure person I know. So any laws I have broken are ones that everyone else has at least once. And things that I don't take seriously as law. So I can't really say I don't have secrets. But they aren't really secrets.
No, I don't do drugs. I may have broken a few age-related laws. But only by 3 months. And I did another thing that is only illegal in the state I'm not living in. So it doesn't really count.
I only download music illegally if my parents own the CD, but I'm not willing to dig it up for the one song I like. So I don't think that's stealing. Because I already own it.
So even with those 'secrets' I don't feel like they're much of secrets. Someone could tell me that and I wouldn't bat an eye. A police officer might, but it's hardly a secret in the scheme of secrets.
So I guess that's what I mean when I say I have no secrets.

Happy Valentine's day today. Honestly I feel just as lonely right now as you. And helpless.

I'm turning 21 in 7 days. I feel kind of sad that I won't get the normal barrage of birthday wishes. Because 21 is a big deal. But I don't want anything to do with anyone. Because everyone I care about has shown they have a shit face.
My mom is the only one I can trust to not show me a shit face. Who won't decide she doesn't like me the way I am. The opposite, I'm exactly who she wanted me to be. That's strange. It's fortunate. It's nice being yourself and someone completely liking it.
So I'm celebrating my birthday with her. And my husband. I feel kind of depressed about it now. Because of what happened, yesterday. I never know if he will really mean it someday. If he really will divorce me.
He says he won't but the fact that the thought is the first thing that comes to him.... Even if it isn't my fault he might. Even if nothing is even really wrong.
Which is helpless feeling.

I want to know my little brother better, I think. I feel worried for him and his judgment of how life works, frankly. But I have a feeling he's even more accepting than I think. I could cry in front of him without being embarrassed. I only did that once but I found out.
-

I dreamt last night that I was at a studio for makeup. Indoor studio of artists who do transformations. You bring in a picture and they make you look like it.
I had brought in a picture of a woman with black thick almost-long hair and a blue face that looked like stars. A woman sat me down and started working on it. When I looked in the mirror my face was a pasty blue, in progress. The woman went away and I had to go somewhere. When I came back, I didn't know her name or how to locate her. I tried to describe her but failed. I remembered that she had the copy of the picture, and I couldn't get it back. I could try to explain it to another artist. I tried to pick another one that had a great reputation. But I could not go on without the picture.

This reminds me of how I need to realize, in this world I do not belong. I am an alien to these customs. I am venusian. In my world you have to be polite. You have to kindly ignore those who dress outlandishly. Respect from afar. It's rude to comment. Or to overshoot and give too much attention.
In my world, I can paint my face blue. I can paint it blue and have stars and go out on a normal day, for no occasion. I could paint it like a doll with stitches, or like a silver moon.
How it hurts to not be myself.