Unless it's mad, passionate, extraordinary love,  it's a waste of your time.

There are too many mediocre things in life; Love shouldn't be one of them.

(Dream for an Insomniac)

Cross your heart and hope to die

tattoo idea

To cross one's fingers is a hand gesture commonly used to to implore God for protection, as well as to wish for good luck.
The gesture is referred to by the common expression "keeping one's fingers crossed" or just "fingers crossed" and has also been historically used in order to allow believers to recognize one another during times of persecution.
Some people, mostly children, also use the gesture to excuse their telling of a white lie. This may have its roots in the belief that the power of the Christian cross might save one from being sent to hell for telling a lie.
A similar belief is that crossing one's fingers invalidates a promise being made.

you know what i really love? when shirley warns me or says things that start with "when you're famous..." like it's not even a question, that she really thinks i could do something that matters.

be sure not to do something permanent just because you feel something temporary

let it go – the
e.e. cummings

let it go – the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise – let it go it
was sworn to
go
let them go – the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers – you must let them go they
were born
to go
let all go – the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things – let all go
dear
so comes love

I think I realize why I'm so scared of dying. Why I get panic attacks about it sometimes.
When I was really young, I started to lose my sight really fast. and the thought of the world around me blurring and disappearing freaked me out a lot. I'd have terrible nightmares. And maybe that's where it started.

the pain he feel's the only explanation 
for believing lies are true

i like my new job. I designed a billboard and catalog and website this week. 

the taxi line at penn station, wonjo, apartment, red egg.
pain quotidien, juice at lifethyme, moma's rain room, the exhibitions on oldenberg and corbusier, guggenheim- james turell, utrecht, naptime. spice market, the high line, west side highway water's edge sunset and grass, jane hotel bar, apple pie at french roast. booty.
12 chairs brunch. taxi.

The older I get and the more stories I live through the less I want to write them down or spread it all over social media. 

My bra was irritating me and I'd suspected for a while that I wasn't wearing the right size. As someone who has larger boobs, I'm afraid of sagging, and one of the many causes is wearing an ill fitting bra. So this place is kind of awesome. and instead of a 34B which I thought I was for years, I'm a 32C. http://nymag.com/guides/everything/bras/41545/ The Orchard Corset Center 157 Orchard St., nr. Stanton St. 212-674-0786 This is not so much a bra store as a time warp, stuck resolutely in 1968, with bra boxes piled floor to ceiling and a torn curtain covering the “dressing room.” The owner, a bewigged Orthodox woman, looked up from her crocheting when I walked in. “You’re wearing a D,” she stated in a matter-of-fact Brooklyn accent. “You’re a triple D.”