We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
if you didnt have an avril lavigne phase youre a liar
the fact that it doesn’t matter how much I learn about or advocate for feminism, how many conversations I’ve had about bystander intervention, and how many times I’ve been told what consent is and is not — that despite all of that, I still had to experience something that makes me feel uncomfortable and like my personal space/body has been disrespected and violated, yet there’s nothing I can do about it in terms of accountability, is so scary and discouraging
if you hold an empty gatorade bottle up to your ear you can hear the sports