selfish

It’s been a rough year.

Just about five years ago, I started exercising my Right as an Adult and flew myself all around the world. I’d never really traveled as a kid, save for the few snow trips every other year, so traveling was this New, Sick Thing that became a very large part of my life.

“I’m a big kid now.
I can do stuff like this!!”

It slowly turned into a very strange addiction of mine.

I’d fly to Chicago randomly, to and from Boston, stay in LA for a bit, explore the west coast, work in Europe for a while, drive eight hours north just to see what was there. It felt so good. I can’t remember feeling happier in my entire life. I would work endlessly just to afford a weekend off in another state or even in a hotel room twenty minutes away from home. Any sense of being away felt righteous. But what was I running away from?

Oh, I don’t know, the collapsing state of my mental illness, perhaps!?
(100% definitely that.)

Most days I’m trying to escape my thoughts.. I’m so irrationally paranoid about being a Bad Person or being shamed for something (anything). Some days I can actually feel my manic energy and anxiety spread from the very top of my scalp to the tips of my fingers; Sometimes the only way to calm myself down is to  fantasize about a cast net being thrown over my brain, slowly catching and pulling out all of the anxiety/nervous germs breeding inside my head.

I’ll lay in bed for hours imagining the ghost of myself being stripped out of my skin layer by layer… Kinda like the way glue peels off skin when it dries. Except with a little more pain and screaming.

Every damn day I think to myself,
“I wish I was okay. Why am I like this? I wish I wasn’t like this. I need help. I need help.
I need help. I need help.”

I need help apart from substance abuse.

You ever just know in your gut that you don’t belong somewhere?

Some parts of me beg to myself to leave. Just go. I’ve done that so many times before, right? I’m good at packing, right? Other parts of me want so goddamn badly to conquer those impulsive, loud thoughts and actively try to take advantage of where I am in my life.
School? Healthcare? Be in a band? Own chickens? Just to say I did it?

“Don’t be a coward. Don’t run away. Don’t run away.”

“There is no place for you here! You are too much for this city!”

“Where the fuck is the sun!”

“Your rent is $237.”

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It’s difficult to tell what the right choice is when I’m feeling lonely.
People are really different here. It’s a tiny city.

Honestly, I will literally do anything to avoid feeling lonely.
Even if it means sleeping in my car downtown or drawing for six hours at a time.
I want to get out of my head!! I am so tired of my shit!! I need help!!
I want to drop kick my own ass and teach me a lesson!!

There is a lot of love and creativity swirling around in my tiny flesh case that doesn’t get the chance to Turn Into A Thing. I want to do everything, but here I am temporarily maimed by my own thoughts and fears. I don’t know when I turned into such a fearful person, but it gets old. It feels like I’m dragging around a sleeping bag full of shoes that are too big for me.

Like, what am I gonna do with all this pointless fucking baggage!?

You ever just fucking know in your gut that you’re meant for better things?
I deserve to heal. I deserve to take care of myself.
I deserve to be better. I deserve to be myself again.

I deserve to be better to the people who love me.
Hurting people hurt people.

I don’t know how I’m going to help myself or get better, but I’m always trying.
Maybe this time with healthcare professionals or prescribed medicine.

Instead of running away, I’d like to run into myself again and examine all the parts that I love, all the parts that make me incredibly special and wonderful. Take care of myself. Treat myself better. Take me out on a date. Never doubting, always pushing.

I look forward to the day when I am brave enough to be me, all the way!!
Even if it seems far away at the moment, it’ll happen.
I am a good person.
I am a good person.
I am a good fucking person.

I hope I never forget that.

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“So, where are you moving?”

“LA! Gonna be with my friends and hopefully do something (anything).”

“Ooh,  LA. Yikes.”

“LA isn’t that bad…”

“LA’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah, well, true… but still… I mean, sunshine… and palm trees…”

“Why the hell are you moving to LA.”

“….I have no fucking idea.”
Every time I pass through LA, it’s something wildly different from the previous visit. And I mean every fucking time.

I think it largely has to do with the constant and uncontrollable growth spurts I’ve been cast into the last year of my life. Good fuckin’ lord, when will it end. WHEN WILL IT END!?

I AM SO FUuuUCKiIINNG TIRED OF GROWING IN WAYS THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH MY HEIGHT. *

*I’ve said it before and I’ll say until the day I choke on my own saliva and die – having the proportions of an overgrown, awkward armadillo, but the body of seven year old football player is CUMBERSOME AS FUCK. Like, shit, throw me a fuckin’ bone here…

Anyway. LA.

The time I spent in LA was quite glamorous. Rich, bougie restaurants, jazz clubs with hot dads, valet parking, being on The List of some club that firmly believed in having absolutely no lighting whatsoever (the things we do for aesthetic *sigh*), water bottles of tequila, puking my brains out in bags with old friends, being cornered by a group of angry, drunk bros… You know, LA stuff 🙂 It was our favorite Leo’s birthday, so we had to celebrate and do all the things we’d forget about in the morning. Fine dining and all.*Slips serving dish into my pants* Of course, whenever you dine out at places like these, you have to take home a couple souvenirs.

So, we did. Sue me.Bumbling around in the one of the richest cities in the country was strange.  Drunkenly bumbling around in one of the richest cities in the country was strange, but I was accompanied by my group of beaming, amazing friends, so it was easy to walk in their glittery, chain-smokey wake without being noticeably out of place. I couldn’t help but feel like an eleven year old girl walking through the mall without my parents for the first time. I will never be as cool as I was in that moment, walking on tiles with celebrity names embellished, richly, with golden glaze, times new roman font in the middle of some fuckin’ yellow star that has been peed on at least twice. “Hollywood” I whispered to myself as if I found some sort of meaning in my life.Our crawl through Hollywood ended rather quickly; We were all broke and men with spray tans stopped buying our drinks. So, as Californians do, we went to a lofty after party on some hill at some dude’s house in some part expensive part of Hollywood. Something like that.

It was easily one of the nicer houses I’ve ever randomly ended up drunk at, for sure. Chrome everything, sliding doors most things, finger printed nothings… You had to walk through a chamber, put a three-headed dog to sleep with a self playing harp, detangle a clump of lethal and rapidly growing roots, catch the right flying key in a coastal migration of flying keys, play a wicked game of chess, and burn the face off of He Who Must Not Be Named just to go to the fuckin’ bathroom. It was a little much, but hey, I guess I’ll never understand how the other half lives. Everything has to be a spectacle, it seems… This was the only picture I took at the party. Yeah, yeah, a couple videos here and there of my friend and I lifting weights (richly), and maybe a couple selfies we took on some dude’s phone (VERY richly), but no other evidence of actually being at this party. THANK GODDESS. I am thankful, however, for this brilliant picture. Shots of tequila chased by pickles and gelato. The rich know how to party. Rather, the poor know how to party within a richly equipped vessel.

My night in this enchanted, chrome place was kicked off by some hairless, really bad pompadourian, obnoxious trust fund zygote that kept badgering my friend by telling her that she must dress the way she does because she’s trying to be Link from Zelda. It could be the only way. After she told him, “No, I dress like this because I want to,” he went on and on about how she must not understand his analogy, and continued to try to explain how she has to like Zelda. She just doesn’t understand the analogy.

“No, she just doesn’t understand bad analogies? Is that even an analogy?” – Olivia Go, 2015.

I’ve had it up to here with dudely folk jerking their opinion off on women. Go away.

As the night carried on and my ligaments developed a sheer, chrome, rich tint to them, I noticed one of my friends (the birthday queen) crying. Bros were treating her like shit because she was drunk and pantsless (AS YOU DO AT YOUR OWN BIRTHDAY AFTER PARTY). “hOW cAN You EXpECT TO be reSpeCTED wHEN you’re In your UnderWEar.”

I want to make it very clear that all my life I have waited for a poor sucker to say the words.
Just say the fucking words so I can fuckin’ kill your ass and get it over with.
On August 21st, 2015, my life became enriched with meaning. 

We’re leaving! – Alicia, LEO 2015.

Having it up to here with the fuckery, we decided to leave. This obviously wasn’t a place for articulate, talented, worthy women.

“Hey, whatserface, can you take our picture? Hey, angelbaby. Angelbaby, listen. Angelbaby can you take our picture? Please? Angelbaby, hey.”

Dude: Yeah, I went to UM.
Me: Oh, nice! Private school, that’s cool.
Dude (richly): …What’s that supposed to mean?
Me: Nothing?
Dude (aggressively): Are you always so aggressive and sarcastic when you talk to people?
Me: I’m just trying to have a conversation with you?
Dude (not trying to have a conversation with me): It’s your tone.
Me (not owing him anything): We literally don’t owe each other anything, I don’t know why we’re having a conversation, like it doesn’t matter, so I’ll see you around the party, have a good night, John.
Dude: *Knows his name is Connor.*

I waited for my friends to collect their things so we could finally get the fuck out. I stood by the door for two minutes before pompadour, belly button lint walked over as if I invited him by pigeon mail to irritate me.

Lint baby: *Turns my arm to look at my tattoo* What does this tattoo mean.
Me: I like grotesque femininity.
Lint baby, confidently: Oh, so you’re like one of those intense feminists!!
Me: What makes you say that?
Lint baby: You said you like feminine things, so you’re, like, one of those feminists.
Me, angrily: Yeah, I’d say I’m here for better treatment of women across the board.
Lint baby: WHOA I WAS JUST JOKING AROUND WHOA
Me: Why are you harassing me? What’s the fucking point?
Lint baby: I JUST THINK IT’S FUNNY

*Group of seven bros come out of fuckin’ nowhere and corner me.*
Group of bros, probably: ONE OF OUR FRIENDS IS IN TROUBLE. MAN CHILDREN, ASSEMBLE!!!!

Me: You think it’s funny to harass me?
Some random guy: WHOA YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN WHOA LISTEN CALM DOWN
Me: He’s touching and harassing me, I’m trying to leave, IT’S CHILL, I’m just trying to leave.
Same random guy: I CAN SEE BOTH SIDES JUST CALM DOWN
Different guy: THEN WHY DON’T YOU JUST LEAVE
Me: I’m waiting for my friends! I told them I’d meet them here! There are no sides, this dude is INTENTIONALLY BOTHERING ME.
Guy: IF YOU’RE NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME THEN JUST LEAVE THIS IS MY HOUSE
ME: I’M WAITING FOR MY FUCKING FRIENDS, IT’S CHILL DUDE, JUST CARRY ON
Some other guy: YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN
Guy who supposedly lives in the house: THIS IS MY HOUSE SO YOU CAN GO IF YOU’RE NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME.
Other guy: WHY DOESN’T SHE JUST LEAVE ALREADY.
People always say to do the things that make you uncomfortable, step out of your comfort zone, do something that scares you, because it works out most of the time! And experience! And Who Knows What Will Happen! As a person who’s wild nights out are made up of drinking coffee after 7PM and violent board game battles, this party was certainly one of those golden moments that I will never forget… And eventually be thankful for. It wasn’t even that exciting, like god damn, annoying men are so fucking boring. Been there, done that.What was more important than being inconvenienced by man children was celebrating with women I love. LA is a bizarre place, but holds a very large portion of my heart (see above). As we were leaving the party, I starting peeing in a (rich) decoration bush because there was no fucking way I was going back in there. I heard someone ask, “ARE YOU PEEING?” In harmony, a person and I said, “Yes.” I guess I wasn’t the only person who didn’t want to go back in there. And I guess I wasn’t the only person who had a lot to drink. There’s nothing like unknowingly peeing in a bush with a person you don’t know.

We were picked up and driven home without having to stop to puke once! Mainly because my friend puked with the door open while the car was moving, but that’s besides the point. We made it home, talked around a table, and just existed in unison. It was one of my favorite moments in LA, right there. Being with humans I love (and just met). It was a nice change of pace (because I could barely keep up with the rate we were goin’… I’m not young anymore, it seems…). I mean, so what if a couple guys totally crashed my friend’s birthday party and made everyone uncomfortable and existed rather purposelessly, I got to be with my friends, goddammit. MEMORIES. FUN HAVING… hang overs… So, even though LA is perpetually changing and running out of more water, I can always count on having some really weird, defining experiences there. Admittedly, I find myself looking forward to it most days. (My friends are actors, so, there’s not really way out of it.)

So yeah.
I guess I’m sorta doomed if I move the mystical, rich land that is all of LA – With its over abundance of fuck boys, massive drought, blinding city lights, and expensive bathroom rugs.
But doomed in a grow-y kind of way, you know? I’ve handled my life pretty well so far, this can’t be too bad? Right?

….right?

it’s possible. I think.

I’m an awful writer; In order to articulate any sense of understanding in my life, I have to experience intense devastation or overwhelming happiness. It can’t be anything in between (ever). I’m not inspired by plainly existing (ever). I am thoroughly incapable of doing anything productive if there isn’t some sort of *m e a n i n g* behind it. “There has to be more,” I think to myself, boringly, as I pour scolding hot coffee down my dirty, food-coated uniform. “I NEED TO FEEL. SOMETHING.” 

That being said, it’s taken around 7 months to actually write this. (sorry)An enormous amount of the last 7 months have been spent under blankets of snow, crushing anxiety, lingering sadness, dismal astrology reports, and morning breath.

I couldn’t find consistency in any corner of my life; Couldn’t trust any thought passing through the dumb wrinkles in my head; Couldn’t believe the heart strings being pulled in particular directions for very specific reasons. (Couldn’t fuckin’ deal for one second, more or less.) How do you appropriately wrestle precious, delicate feelings and the crippling reality of this doomed society? From my experience…

Let it ruin you.

Like, totally ruin you.

Get blown over by the wind. Get the rug pulled from under you. Get an IUD that will make every day the equivalent of the worst day. Get hit by a car. Get a friend taken from you. Get superglue to glue your tarantula back together. Get a bigger box for all the medical bills you haven’t paid. Get a grip.

 And get better. Get healing. Get a firm, yet comforting, hold of yourself, my dudes.

It took me months of being snowed in and barricaded by my own feelings to realize that everything I’ve ever been afraid of, everything I’ve ever doubted myself for, has been by the hands of, well, myself. My anxiety and depression has pretty much sucked me dry, trapped me inside of myself for so goddamn long, holy shit (it never ends). If there were anything constant in my life, it would the feeling of needing to eat myself alive in order to get out of my own head. Simultaneously the parasite and the host. Simultaneously the cause and the cure.

HOW THE FRICK DO I ESCAPE ME? 

Actively try to be a better me. I guess. *Shrugs* If I can’t help myself, might as well help others.

Might as well give myself to the people I love.  Might as well rebuild the earth. Might as well let these cool horses eat off my head 🙂 The cheapest haircut I’ve ever had…

Might as well understand that I am everything that’s stopping me (sans systemic patriarchy, white supremacy, violent racism, capitalism, being very poor, all the like).

I need to stop making decisions out of fear and the expectation to accidentally drive off a cliff.

Or worse.

Find exactly what I’m looking for…And not be able to share it with anyone.

I’ve always considered myself a pretty solitary person. On a good day, people absolutely terrify me. On a bad day, I don’t get the opportunity to be afraid of people because I didn’t leave my room. Because more than I’m afraid of people, I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of plainly existing next to no one. I’m afraid of doing it myself, forever. 

(That just sounds like the shittiest circumstance.)  BECAUSE WE NEED EACH OTHER (SADLY).We need to take care of the people we love (because who will, honestly).

 Making those divine human connections is so fucking sweet and important.

But, of course, this is entirely my poorly strung together opinion and experience. It’s okay to be alone sometimes 🙂

The last 7 months have been so developmental and (eventually) cathartic. I feel like an entirely different person everyday. I’m always learning, always growing. Always feeling (ugh). Always being afraid, but loving anyways.

Always being climbed on by dog ticks, but doing this shit anyways. Always receiving the best gifts from the universe. Always.

I have no reason to believe that I will ever become the person that I want to be. There’s so much to do, so much to get better at, so much to learn, so much to absorb.

(Especially in all that time I spent alone, depressed, or locked in a vegan/vegetarian diner.)

I can get pretty fucking close, though. As long as there are people to grow alongside me. As long as there are raspberries to transplant. As long as there are brussel sprouts to burry. As long as there are these beautiful ladies 😉As long as there is warmth and love and home cooked meals. As long as there is a home everywhere I go.

As long as there’s you. It’s possible, I think!

Thank you for getting me through the last 7 months.

I owe you one.

home sick

I want the sun to hit my face
Through oak trees in the open lot
Forget about the things you want
Be thankful for what all you got
So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home

The last few months of my life have been so precious and important; I am growing so fast.

So much so that I am an entirely different human-thing. Every cell, every breath, every taste bud behaves differently; It’s mega weird… I am simultaneously relieved and excited and terrified and confused… I barely recognize myself. Who is this brave sack of girl that I’ve fallen in-love with?

Something that I’ve slowly learned is that being resistant to change won’t stop it from happening. No matter how many tarot cards I read.
So, my best advice is to embrace it, enjoy it, and experience it. But more importantly, receive it.
Fully and completely. Be open to it.

Maybe that’s easier said than done. I myself am a stage six clinger- I am so sentimental and nostalgic that I have difficulty deleting pictures because I’m afraid I’ll miss them one day.

Thank goodness for external hard drives… and change.I try to remind myself that, despite all the rapid changes and growth spurts, I’ve gone pretty far around the block in just twenty-one dumb years.I can tell you what the sun set looks like from different parts of the world. (Spoiler alert: it looks exactly the same. Even in France.)I’ve drank way more beer than you. Trust me.Like, a lot of beer. No question.I’ve lived out of this backpack more times than I’ve lived outside of it. Done this a lot, too (apparently).

But through the long process, I’ve spent so much time alone that I’ve developed crippling social anxiety. 

 * * How is it possible to be both terrified of being alone / afraid to be in the company of other people?

I’ve found that being alone is easy. Being alone is comfortable. Being alone is what I’m good at.But now, the more time I’m starting to spend by myself and consciously think about my tiny place in the world, the more I crave to be around humans that not only move me, but move with me. Humans that move through me. Because I move through other humans, too. For a really long time I believed that the only way to be good to myself was to be by myself. Do everything for myself. Live entirely for myself. Because there was a period of time that I was entirely by myself.And after a couple of years of wandering aimlessly and meeting other humans who were afraid too, I’ve come to the conclusion that life’s best things aren’t nights spent in hotel rooms because I’m too afraid to be around people. Sometimes, not all the time. Life’s best things are made out of broken banjo strings, cold cups of coffee, long car rides through the mountains, and the company of supportive, loving people. Being around people is so good for you. Especially if they’re powerful women. I want (so much) to live a life that is only fueled by love and expression and nature, and with humans who are willing to create/find those things with me. Strength, beauty, and power in numbers. If I want to change my community, I have to have people standing beside me holding my hand.I just can’t/don’t want to do life alone anymore. I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING ALONE.I can’t be a light if there aren’t humans to inspire and ignite and push me. I can’t unravel the world if there aren’t people at the other end of the string waiting. I can’t tell you what the sunset looks like in California if there aren’t these women alongside me.

Here’s to change.
Here’s to a full, rich life dedicated to humans.
Here’s to you.

bklyn queens expressway

Travel time: Phil – Brklyn : 2.5 hours
Actual travel time: Phil – Brklyn : 7 hours

Pictured above: Handsome twenty-something mulling over a worn out atlas while parked alongside a Brooklyn neighborhood. The condition of the car implies a quiet struggle against Brooklyn that includes one way streets and painfully catchy Taylor Swift tunes. The company of a stinky, unbathed girl that hasn’t had her coffee is assumed, but not definite. Hope is lost. Survival is futile. 

Sigh. I am a big fan of traveling without depending on some sort of hand held robot that tells me which way is up… Because, more times than not, that robot doesn’t know shit about which way is up. Fuck that robot. But much more than that, there is nothing more rewarding than knowing you got There by aimlessly walking through a city (that couldn’t give two dangs about you or your partner) and asking for directions by a man sat in a laundromat who is so glad to prove to you how Brooklyn he is. I can’t believe we made it.

Tolls, Tolls, Tolls – The Song Destiny’s Child Should Have wrote.

 Being a Bostonian piece of dirt, it’s difficult to admit that, despite the absolutely good-for-nothing road signs and outrageous toll prices, I really enjoyed the time I was able to spend in Brooklyn. (Subtle blasphemy is something that’s grown into my poorly designed genetic make-up, friends. I’m not perfect.) Though gentrified and cold-hearted, I can see why the wandering soul could find its place there.With so many small businesses and restaurants stuffed into such little space, it is actually impossible for your palette to get bored on 69th street. It is incredible.But what I love about Brooklyn is that when you visit, you’ll find humongous coloring books painted over the rotting flesh of dead buildings with colors you’ve never seen before. Testimonies from the broken hearted are illegibly scribbled across crumbling brick and moldy window panes, which are wonderful accidental metaphors, I think. Brooklyn, it seems, is a city of rebirth.You go to Brooklyn to die, absorbing the white noise and cacophonous buzzing of thousands of bodies who, just like you, are waiting for the sun to resurface. You suffocate and you wait. And wait.I wish I had jars full of that pink, milky light. It seeped through my dead skin and washed over the parts of myself that were dying and breaking off. Parts of myself that I always seemed to forget. This moment was important to me because I watched an entire city breathe and slowly rise out of its own ashes. This moment was important to me because it meant I could, too. I want saturate my life with the colors of a Brooklyn sunrise.I want to season my soul with the concentrate The West Brooklyn uses for their chai lattes. Because it’s fucking good as shit.I want to spend more time in bathrooms than on the side of the road because sometimes it’s not okay to pee behind construction sites. And sometimes you could get caught.But more than anything else, I want to live a life filled with adventures and crazy, near-death experiences that include almost driving off a cliff. I want to DJ the sickest travel playlists on highways that get poor radio signal. And above all things, I want be a milky, pink light for those who can’t reach the sun some days.Brooklyn is so special to me.

“Not all toxic people are cruel and uncaring. Some of them love us dearly. Many of them have good intentions. Most are toxic to our being simply because their needs and way of existing in the world force us to compromise ourselves and our happiness. They aren’t inherently bad people, but they aren’t the right people for us. And as hard as it is, we have to let them go. Life is hard enough without being around people who bring you down, and as much as you care, you can’t destroy yourself for the sake of someone else. You have to make your wellbeing a priority. Whether that means breaking up with someone you care about, loving a family member from a distance, letting go of a friend, or removing yourself from a situation that feels painful — you have every right to leave and create a safer space for yourself.”

Daniell Koepke

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”

– Anthony Bourdain

runaway to the circus

Daydreaming about Europe is slowly spiraling into a very bad habit of mine; I think about Greece every day. I think about dancing with Italian and German men in bars that were too far away from our hostel.I think about mixing pints of Guinness with gin and tonic. Shots of vodka.  I think about how we somehow found our way back to the hostel after those guys took our cab and left us.  I think about how they stayed in the same hostel as us. I think about how one of them was our roommate. I think about stumbling around Athens, drunk out of my mind, meeting people and forgetting about them in the morning. Shannon was a pro. She actually saved my dumb life. We had to catch a flight to Italy four hours after we got back to the hostel and I, blatant drunkard, was more concerned about waking the German guy and our roommate Stephanie than the important things going on in my life in that moment. Like, I don’t know, getting a cab and catching our flight. Even in my drunken stupor, even after being lured into weird, hidden bars, even after abandoning us and forcing us to find our own way back, I still tried to be polite and considerate. Asshole. Your Joy Division tattoo is stupid. Greece is one of my favorite places on Earth. I would leave everything behind and fly over in an instant if I could. One of my favorite memories (one that I will always retell over drinks and yesterday’s leftovers) is running around Athens looking the for the tallest point in the entire city so we could see the sunset. We found a small mountain, one that I don’t feel like attempting to spell, sweaty as all the balls in the entire world from climbing hundreds and hundreds of steps, asking hairy men for directions and only getting pointed fingers. We eventually made the climb (my eyebrows sadly didn’t make it – RIP) and for a split second saw the entire city swallowed in golden light. The sunset leaked into every nook, every corner of Athens. It pooled at the foot of the mountain and seeped into our salty skin. I didn’t think about much besides falling so far into the sun that I wouldn’t have to come back to Earth. America.  This sunset will always pour over corners of my brain and remind me that there is so much more than this. There are paved streets for markets and there are people who will walk with you through them excitedly. There are people who will follow you across the world and trust you. And you will trust them, too. That’s the best part. They’ll hold your hair back and wait for you in between parked cars. They’ll wake you up and hold your hand as you leave the hostel.They’ll help you wave goodbye to one of the best adventures of your life and get ready to start the next one with you in just a few hours. Even if you’re sick. Even if you have the worst hang over of your life. Thanks for Greece. Thanks for everything.

philedelphia

Wish I saw more of ya.