Hello There ❤️ Would You Share How You Spent Vday In Your Dr?

Hello there ❤️ would you share how you spent vday in your dr?

how valentine’s day was in my better cr : a novella, a fever dream, an aesthetic experience, a love story to end all love stories

monday, tuesday : civilian behaviour. school, the humdrum, the daily grind, except coryo is the chauffeur of my suburban dreams, picking me up in the mornings like a perfectly curated boyfriend playlist, and we drive to school, me, unbothered, in the passenger seat of destiny. i love hiiimmmm. but wednesday. wednesday !!!

5pm. the text : pack some things. vague, thrilling, mysterious ???? like a mission briefing, but sexy. i throw my essentials into a bag because intuition tells me that valentine's day will be an event. at 7pm, he picks me up. drives me to the airport. his jet. HIS JET. no hints, no peeks, just the casual absurdity of a seven-hour flight into the abyss of love. i fall asleep on his shoulder like a tragic heroine, a modern-day sleeping beauty, only to be carried (yes, carried !!!!!!!! he's my prince charming) to the car when we land at 4am in paris. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.

the ritz. the hemingway suite. i mean, come ON. i am in sweats, barely lucid, but my god, does he know me. paris at 4am is a whisper, a love letter, an empty museum of its own beauty. we sleep another six hours in the kind of sheets that feel like being swaddled by luxury itself. then, valentine’s day begins.

10am . . . breakfast in bed : croissants, honey, mimosas, little tea cakes that taste like poetry. he gifts me a heart-shaped pandora charm with diamonds, and i think, ‘sweet, simple.’ except, no. there is more. I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM.

12pm . . . musée d'orsay, because of course he knows me. at a cafe, he sneaks another charm onto the coffee plate. a beauty and the beast rose. i stare at him like he invented romance. i am giggling. i am twirling my hair. i am about to FAINT from love.

1pm . . . rue saint-honoré. he drags me into miu miu (i want to sob), buys me the little nappa hair clips, and then clips one into my hair outside before kissing my forehead. this man is a disease and i am not looking for a cure. I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM. he's almost about to drag me into louis vuitton and i'm making a run from it because i'd marry him. which is bad because we're 17 !!!!! no marriage !!!

2pm . . . ilang. my favourite restaurant. a shrine to my good taste (no, seriously, if you're in paris...go there ASAP. they have the best best bessssssstttttt korean food).

then, the champs-élysées, where pda levels reach new highs, where he buys me a box of ladurée macarons and matching love rings. this is sickening. i have to reciprocate. i buy him an acne studios scarf to match his coat and my miu miu bag, because symmetry is key in love and fashion. i love hiiimmmm. i can barely stand it.

4pm . . . we share airpods, clairo’s ‘juna’ plays, he spins me around on the street, and at this point, i am beyond salvation. send help. (don’t send help.) I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM. he takes like 100 pictures of me, and i swat him a few times. like....tenderly.

dinner : a boat restaurant, eiffel tower views, romance so potent it should be illegal. dessert comes with a love letter. this man. this fucker. i hate him. i love him. (six times over.) actually, seven. i love hiiimmmm.

by the time we're walking back to our hotel, he wraps his scarf around my hair like i'm a 60s french heroine.

11pm . . . we get back. and.

morning. . . i wake up : first, kiss him on the cheek, shift back.

et voilà. a love story, a weekend, a work of art, a religious experience. i will never be the same. i love hiiimmmm. endlessly.

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THE “BLOODSTORM B*TCH METHOD” A HACK TO ENTER SLEEP PARALYSIS.

THE “BLOODSTORM B*TCH METHOD” A HACK TO ENTER SLEEP PARALYSIS.

you wanna get into sleep paralysis, huh? you’re sick and twisted, and i’m LIVING for it. well, buckle up, because i’m about to give you the nastiest hack that’ll have you stuck in your bed like a hot mess in a haunted house. get ready to get frozen, baby.

1) lie on your back, you lazy bitch. – you wanna play with the big leagues? Well, first, you gotta get in the right position. don’t try to get cute. if you wanna see the dark side, you better go full “corpse mode” and lie flat on your back like a dead fish on a slab.

2) don’t even think about moving. – not even a toe, honey. stop twitching—we’re here to make your body think you’re already dead. it’s called commitment, sweetie. and we don’t half-ass things around here.

3) breathe like you’re on a vacation in bora bora. – slow, deep breaths. Imagine you’re asleep but not really. your body’s gonna think you’re in a coma, while your brain’s wide awake, fully aware, and ready to take over the universe.

4) wait for that tingling sh*t. – the moment you feel like you’re stuck in a damn electrical storm with a side of heavy bricks on your chest, congratulations—you’re entering sleep paralysis. now, hold onto your damn pearls, because this is where the fun starts.

5) STAY THE HELL CALM, BITCH. – when your body’s frozen like a popsicle, you’ll be tempted to panic like a little bitch, but guess what? that’s what the losers do. you just lay there, eyes wide open or closed, and pretend you’re unfazed.

6) now, do whatever the hell you want. - want to dip into the void? affirm, “i’m in the void, motherfucker,” and let yourself fall into pure nothingness. It’s like your own private club and only YOU are invited. want to astral project? Imagine yourself floating up like a heavenly diva and watch your body lay there, pathetic and useless.

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