(seventy-seven) forty eight days before. some nights, i say, “fuck it all”
i don’t care who knows what this is about and i don’t care to know. maybe you’re reading it and that’s cool too. don’t be pissed because you’re the one that comes here. you’re the one that reads, still reads. this is your fault. you set a day, not me. and if you come here and read, and come back and read, you have no right to be angry with me. i never did like “ignorance is bliss” not because it’s not true (because sometimes, for some people, it is) but because it’s annoying and used as an excuse to ignore everything. but if you choose to ignore this that’s fine.
i always wondered why people, myself included, smile in pictures. i decided i like candids because they aren’t staged. and yes i am aware that is the definition of “candid” but daily household photography has one main purpose in my mind, and that is to capture memories. preserve moments. possess visual evidence of an occurrence and validate the sentiments that come with looking at it and the feelings that existed at the time. why anyone would put any of that at risk, the trueness of it all, i could never understand. until tonight. at 139am.
“maybe it’s because people want to look back and believe that they were always happy.”
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