It's not that I have some crazy ego, it's just that media is in someways a deeper connection than reality. If there's no magic or chaos, I'm not interested.
And some days, you have to say: a real life is not enough.
You have to buy a book called " A Great and Terrible Beauty." You have to bake a chicken pot pie and draw hearts on the steamy windows. You have you kiss your person too many times while they wait to a shower. You have to make muffins with those old bananas so perfect butter aches to melt on 'em. You make a zine with your two best friends. You dream of a city you used to live in that moved as fast as you run when you miss the bus. You feel softer, slower, sweeter, and you cozy with green tea and a stray cat. You make organic juices for soon-to-be mothers with rosy cheeks. You dream up the end of the week-long monsoon.
You have to come home. Have to write about it. Have to make it more than just the motions you go through.
I was born into reality, a rawness. I will bake myself into enchantment. I know just the recipe.