Oh to be the daughter who lives abroad, going vintage shopping every weekend, financially independent, single, only going home once a year and only have a very exclusive set of friends that will ask you to go to parties every friday or saturday night..**manifesting**
you’re in nyc for pride as step 50 in your 100 step bisexuality hard launch cruising in the west village earlier that day you texted your situationship about his time in pfw where he risked heatstroke to look like keanu reeves trade and you can’t stop wondering if it was sending subliminal messages to you but you’re too embarrassed to ask so you keep typing and retyping the message until you settle on asking what he’s doing in london right now he sends you a pic in his button up and cross body purse and you’re so overcome with longing you rush to the nearest bathroom and kick out the huddle of gay guys doing coke in the porta potty to quickly change into the matching button up shirt you stuffed in your purse in a haste because it reminded you of him and you realize the universe is sending you a sign