I am so irrevocably in love with Jeff Buckley.
Obsessed with photographs of people I've never met and places I wish to see.
Be happy, by all means.
Start running. Turn it into a habit.
Tone my body.
Lose significant weight.
Get a job.
Change a stranger's life for the better.
- Guy: Wanna hang out?
- Me: What do you wanna do?
- Guy: You could come over if you want.
- *Notice the implication as no other choice was given*
The more I think about it, the more I realized the true reason as to why I fell in love. He didn’t kiss me. He never put his hand on my thigh.
I am so sick and incredibly tired of guys assuming that I should automatically sleep with them just because they took me out. HANGING OUT DOESN’T MEAN “HEY LET’S TALK FOR FIVE MINUTES AND MAKE OUT AND HAVE SEX.” So disgusting. It has gotten to the point where I am hesitant to accept a date or a hang out solely because I don’t want to be objectified again.