"What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell
you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and
seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you
wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t.
You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And
you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are —
underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of
you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your
mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five.
And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like
if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and
needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings
inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the
other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is."
HOW PRETTY DID LOUIS LOOK IN PARIS THOUGH. THAT DAY CAN NEVER GET ENOUGH APPRECIATION.
PARIS LOUIS IS WHAT MY DREAMS ARE MADE OF
Paris Louis was the softest
most lovable and cuddliest
I’ve ever seen
LOOK AT THOSE EYELASHES
He wore my favoritest favorite sweater and he looked like a little fuzzy grape
Not to mention his fringe was ON POINT (that girl is literally me)
And he was the happiest little sunshine I’ve ever seen
It’s like a thousand care bears, and unicorns and bunny rabbits decided to inhabit his body for a day
For some reason I feel like I should blame it all on Harry Styles