Inlay

Yawns loudly and stretches out like some overgrown cat.

Is he high? Absolutely. Has he slept? Not even a little. Is he currently hyper aware of his own toes? Unsettlingly so.

Sips coffee through a curly straw. “Evening~”

ᴄᴀɪɴ. It’s my birthday, I’m gonna be awol for a bit!

𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘓𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩. 𝘼𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙢𝙖.

𝘈 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘌𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬, 𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦. 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙃.

ᴄᴀɪɴ. Once again I am so very. Very normal. Still slowly digging the collection out of storage lmfao. Progress.

Grins. “If ‘lunch’ means ice cream? I’m in.”

ᴄᴀɪɴ. Went to the gym for the first time since I got injured and

𝙳 𝙴 𝙰 𝚃 𝙷