I have this thing with horns and taxidermy.  

And rainy days where the edges of life seem somewhat blurred, softened.

And light-filled rooms with darkly painted walls. 

And Edie's unruly raven curls and two single freckles. 

And Mo's mussed up nature, only adding to the undeniable je ne sais quoi she reeks of.

And laugh lines, wrinkles, freckles, and grey hair.

And a home that looks lived-in, slightly unkempt, with a picture or two very narrowly crooked. But only just so. 

And home-cooked meals that elicits abundant and borderline vulgar onomatopoeia.

And books void of happy endings.

And ugly cries so cathartic, you can feel the lightness afterwards deep within the marrow of your soul. 

And make-up sex.

And the particular way my years-old, covered in holes, two-sizes-too-big grey sweatshirt always feels like the perfect thing to wear, no matter the occasion.

And the mess.


I really, really enjoy the mess.