Just a girl who thinks she’s different. Just a girl with a pen. Just a girl.
Opened windows and the smell of medium roast coffee
The local bird population
I met a ghost boy.
The first image he ever gave me will haunt me forever; Sitting in a decrepit parking lot; leaning on the hood of his 1970 Plymouth roadrunner, running his hands through his Matt Healy hair
Let’s go down to the river, skip some stones
Who do you talk to when you feel alone?