This is the story of how we begin to remember
This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein
After the dream of falling and calling your name out
These are the roots of rhythm
And the roots of rhythm remain
This one goes out to a friend of mine.
Nobody rocks an ’80s jean jacket like Chrissie Hynde.
I totally forgot about this, but I took a bunch of pictures out the window of the plane on the way to NYC.
It’s not often that you get to take pictures of the sky while you are actually in it. That is pretty amazing, if you ask me. Thanks, technology!
I spent this past weekend in NYC with a few of my good friends and we rented this ridiculously amazing loft from a woman who has two little girls. My friend B and I slept in the bunk beds in their room, and the décor style was infinitely pleasing. They had a plethora of little toys and knicknacks scattered whimsically around the place, and seriously like one million stuffed animals on each of the beds. Like, it was almost impossible to climb in because there were so many dolls and bears and other assorted plush toys. My favorite was this little dude — who apparently is a character from a series of childrens books, but I just referred to him as The Donut.
I am not ashamed to admit that I hugged him and held onto him as I slept. There was something about him that was very soothing!
I was also quite taken with this random Frankenstein ceiling appliqué: