I wish I could invite you into an aesthetic. We could sit in a white room on a blush couch free of crumbs and random letters. Drink sweet tea in matching cups, served on a wooden tray without stains of other lives. A perfectly neutral space where you could rest your feet on a plush pouf, instead of regrets. There would be order & the perfect border of white space hiding closets full of autobiographies & sharp knives. I could invite you into an aesthetic lie, but really, where’s the fun in that?