there is no aging out of having fun. there is no expiration date for joy. if you see someone freely and unabashedly expressing themself in a way that is ultimately harmless, and you balk because you think that person should have “grown out” of whatever it is that’s bringing them happiness by now: you have GOT to start asking yourself questions. where did you learn to treat enjoyment the way a grocery store treats blemished fruit, sooner sent to the landfill than the malnourished? who benefits from the narrative that aging and spiritual suppression go hand in hand? and what harmless amusements, dear neighbor, are you telling yourself that you’re not allowed to indulge anymore, for fear of scalding judgment by so many shame-filled strangers who don’t even know your name?
im so in love with this post one time i got really really high and decided since i dont have a printer that i was going to paint it and hang it up on my wall
there’s only 7 words on the painting and you managed to misspell the two largest ones
