We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
that relatable feeling when
you are a kind and benevolent god radiating beauty and light
i really hate this ‘ur other half is out there somewhere u just gotta meet them’ like fuck off im not incomplete im a whole person and i dont need anyone to ‘complete me’ the only thing i need is a pizza and not ur shit bye