I try so hard to be that girl with perfect hair, preferably pink hair a la bangs, that always walks on crowded streets in downtown Tokyo. I mean I'd wear a gas mask gladly, whether I surgically had my smile removed or not. I mean, I love people & I love not talking. I'm a big city girl. Rain is nothing when you have plastic shades that mutter single syllable words on an endless basis, loopy, in monotone & customizable for only $4.99 but in yen currency.
Plastic shades protect my pink hair. Über grand.
My big city dreams are not harsh memories from any pray-pray room & I have a profound love for Tokyo. I want to have candy while 100ft pixels smile at me & tell me it's not too late to be a perfect space alien that loves all & shoes are not as important as species of every kind.
I want to eat sushi at 3am, if I want to & have respect for strangers even when sake makes roadblocks on a childhood of broken toys.
I love Tokyo & I wish I was far enough to catch it from the opposite side of the left ear. I love Tokyo & I wish giving out enough f**s could buy a plane ticket.