I'm still alive.

[humoyespejos]

I've worked myself to a visceral mass of blood pudding. I'm tired, but I'm so ready for things to begin.
I want cool grass beneath my feet, the squishy goodness between my toes. I want soft hand- holding, muffled, sleep-thrilled confessions of love pressed into pillows.

I want to look nice and clean and be polite. I want friends over, ringing laughter, delicious tummy-satiating sweets dangling on printed red flower plates.

I want to do things that make me happy. I am fucking hard-working, and I think I deserve to treat myself.