the girl who owns the world

Somehow, I know with that it’s over. There’s nothing left to it, there was nothing to it before, right? Just mason jars once filled with iced tea, and a memory stick of songs for you to listen to. The smallest remnants. It’s not like bicycles, cats, children, or mortgages. Just, empty glass jars, and megabytes of memories that were never filled. So modern and hip. 

Every relationship fails, then fails again until it doesn’t. 

I fail so hard every day, because I’m queer. At least, that’s what Judith Halberstam thinks.