Miss Nia Autopsy.

i can't sleep in complete darkness and i'm constantly thinking, and worrying about stupid shit that maybe doesn't and wouldn't matter to most people. i like being alone way too much but at the sme time i crave companionship. i'll hold hands with anyone who will hold hands with me, and i love attention like any other girl. there isn't any such thing as originality; everything has already been said, thought, and done. photography books, regular books, children's books, all hold my interest. sometimes i think highly of myself and sometimes i can't bear to. i'm bitchy to cover up how shy i am. i have a lot to say but i don't like the sound of my own voice enough to voice everything out, i try to keep it to the things that are only necessary. its not like i've been hurt 1000 times, but being hurt once or twice should be a teacher, if you're intelligent enough, and i am. just because i smoke doesn't mean i'm stupid or think i'm invincible, but i don't care about having some long life; everything will give you cancer these days. i listen to songs for lyrics a lot. sometimes i feel like the world's biggest fuckup, which is yet to be confirmed or denied.

i'm trying hard these days, to keep up with everything but to enjoy things. it's hard to relax when you're rushed. it's hard to be happy when you can't stop thinking and you can't get away. though i don't believe originality is real, i still am bothered by blantant imitation; you can be inspired in a less obvious way, but whatever it doesn't really matter. anytime before the 90s, is a fashion inspiration to me. i love 80s color and vibe, 70s relaxed, 60s clean and orderly, 50s perfection, and 40s elegant class, where the true meaning of class began. vintage is so amazing, seriously, i scope out vintages anywhere i go to see what different regions have to offer.

the reasons all have run away, but the feelings never did.

xo.