I blog places I want to go, people I want to be, and harry styles.
keep dreaming about moving to new york and then waking up remembering I actually am in like 5 months, fucckkkk
i need to get a real job so i can stop crying over expensive lingerie and start crying in expensive lingerie
i want to sleep for 2 years and wake up with a degree, an apartment and money in the bank.
having your heart broken is definitely worse than actual physical pain. I’d much rather be punched repeatedly in the face.