somebodyelse
texture of life is somewhere between runny eggs and silk-soft hair--impossible to describe fully, but suffice to say that there is no possible scenario in which there is neither disgust nor utter joy at the touch of life. telling me that there is nothing out there for me does not dissuade. rather, it encourages me to find something and spite you once and for all [texture of spite: sweet, sweet, sharpicysteel]