After a particularly trying day, a day that included some tears (Boy I’m getting those bitches down, huh?) and some worry about what exactly the fuck I’m supposed to be doing with my life, I took the time to make myself a little sanctuary.

And there I laid on my freshly-washed sheets, talking to the man who loves me to the moon and back, listening to country music. It reminds me of when I was a little girl, spinning tales and dreams and ideas into a web, taking up every inch of my happy room. I needed this. I needed my little space to escape and to relax, to think about love, to think about what I want to do with my life, to breathe.

Being in love makes everything better, yes. It makes dreams seem more attainable, it makes a future more exciting, it makes getting out of bed a worthwhile effort. But being in love with him? Well. It makes me want to string twinkle lights in my curtains.

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