jenna-leigh.
I'm not a victim.
Bears, banjo, Beat lit, beers, books, balloons, Bukowski, best friends, being broke, and my guitar, Betty.
You don’t exist. You used to, up until recently. You took the form of beautiful, waifs I saw in the street, of talented acquaintances, of my younger, prettier sister and seemingly ambitious friends. Lately, however, I’ve come to realise that the exterior means practically nothing. Everyone is trying so damn hard to present a facade of confidence, of purpose, when all they are trying to do is keep it together.
There’s no point being jealous of anyone; we;re all living our own private hells, and if you disagree, then you’re probably just not looking close enough.