I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love.
highkey want a boy who’s taller than me and has messy hair and nice eyebrows and is strong enough to lift me and carry me when I’m tired and is intelligent and can carry smart conversations and calls me beautiful and treats me right in front of his friends
