The Girl Who Cries at Commercials
The Man Who Cries at Commercials
Tears for ads, whiskey for the soul.
I wear my softness like a scar, not a shame. I walk quiet museum halls and talk to statues like they're listening. I name my plants after disasters because they survive anyway. You'll find me in dive bars with a drink I won't finish, crying at dog food ads like they're Shakespeare. I don't apologize for it. Beauty and loss are the same live wire — I just still have all my fingers on it.
What I'm Into: swelling music in ads, apologizing to statues, houseplants with tragic names, silence before dawn, whiskey that stays in the glass
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