subject line: crooked smiles.


somewhere in florida.

here’s the thing:

i want to eat Chinese food on a
Sunday night and talk about the
complexities of religion at 1 AM with people who
don’t care that their hair’s falling out of a braid
and that their laugh is a bit too loud.

i’d rather have people who want to
make memories than look like they have it
together all the time because

i think we’re all victims of a whitened
smile and dredged up inside jokes
and imprints from a night that
we weren’t a part of,
calling each other “fake”
when each person is just trying to be as real
as everybody else and a hypocrite
because we make mistakes

but i like crooked smiles and freckles and
drives with the sunset blurring beneath my hands
and music that’s slightly awful and i’d rather have you
call me crying than only care that nobody realizes
that you’re a real person

personally, i find more courage in the person
who steps back and says
everything isn’t perfect and that’s okay.