tonight i drove in the rain. Phoebe Bridgers was playing and the lights i've grown to know as my town were distorted and had an ethereal glow. my sister was sitting next to me. i've been told it's the little things. i never believed it until tonight. it might be the feeling of his head on my chest or my guitar that i decorated. it's my black eyeshadow and the way my angst eats me alive. my crystals might be fake, but i trust them like my grandma trusts a cross with a sheet across it. his lips were on mine and i felt nothing. i looked at myself in the mirror and felt everything. it's the little things. it's my friends laughing with me. it's pen on paper. i have to believe it's the little things. the little things bleed magic, however small. the little magic isn't witchcraft, it's human. the little magic makes me believe. maybe magic isn't real. i still hear you either way. you and i are the storm, darling.