I'm starting to question my own sanity if living here has begun to feel normal. In a universe where I'm fictional, where I'm occasionally stopped on the street for looking familiar — without being arrested. I wish I knew the name of the person I'd shoved into an alley before making a run for it, because I feel like I should send a card.
Maybe I'll finally decorate my room. Or get a cat.
Maybe I'll finally decorate my room. Or get a cat.