everyday i must foster the person i wish to become... what a difficult but rewarding journey that will be! ᯓ★ say what's up: yourworldoftext.com/~contristo ᯓ★ it is *thursday* #6F8FAF I have [leg] [back] [uterus] cramps - I miss the dry climate and being silly with you... I hope we can be silly together forever... ᯓ★ 8.12.25 Sitting on a porch in Arizona. Appreciating the foliage around me (#5B5B1D). Practicing acknowledging while letting things pass by - existence can be simple. It would be nice to have a ciggie right now with my coffee, yes, but that doesn’t mean that I need one in my hand. Everything can be simple. The cicadas are very loud around here. Their hum puts me to sleep. The heat makes everything move at a slower pace. 7.30.25 Running off of inertia but only in circles, so my feet start to hurt and the ground is being worn out below me. The child that still lives inside me gets me in trouble singing and giggling and disappearing and exploring. Men will push you deep into the ground to have an excuse to pick you up, tight fingers under the armpits - the child that still lives inside of me gets in trouble thrashing and screaming and clawing and crying. 7.22.25 Taking my own hand, recognizing I am not good at practice. Cutting through the thick vines of hedonism. Picking up two items and deciding what's for dinner tonight. Falling into silent moments and getting stuck in quicksand. White knuckling. Bursting at the seams. What makes this street different from a road 300 miles east. Why must I memorize every detail that makes up a grocery store. I've driven this curve countless times. 7.11.25 It is hard to feel exhausted so often. I am aware of what would heal me (waking up to the birds, sitting by a body of moving water - preferably lake michigan, seeing plants dance in the wind, creating, learning, listening, dancing) yet it is all so out of reach in this inconsiderate hellscape of [america?] [capitalism?] [my job?] [any job?] [my brain?] 6.30.25 If I could reach down my throat and remove this feeling from my stomach I would. But it has deep overlapping roots, a whole underground system at this point. I am unable to compartmentalize the sprawl of love I am forced to notice. I am unable to not relish in the most familiar feeling. Incredibly stunted but so largely felt. I like the solitude of its lack of relatability. I like the story it tells, even if it never exists outside of me.