Filed under “I cannot believe there’s still things I don’t know about this game,” if you go really really fast and hit the wrong switch before Toriel reaches her spot at the end of the room, this message shows up.
It was one of those moments that leaves you as helpless and baffled as the defenders wondering what had just happened, equally incapable of explaining it. How to describe that? How to do it justice? “Don’t wrote about Messi, watch him,” Pep Guardiola once said. A picture paints a thousand words, after all. This picture painted a hundred thousand words and all of them were superlatives. It was a ridiculous goal, one that had a stupefying effect on this stadium.
She looked like a picture-perfect princess, but she could brawl with the best of them on the court. She refused to bend to others’ expectations of her and could be honest to the point of cruelty. She could have inherited her parents’ billion-dollar empire, but she didn’t want the restrictions that life came with. She wanted the right to be her own person. She wanted to prove herself on the court.
You are the bad aftertaste
Of an unneeded cigarette.
You are the throat-burning pain
Of straight vodka- no chaser.
You are the frustration
Of knowing there’s something wrong,
But not knowing what it is.
You are the reason
That I quit smoking cigarettes
And why I don’t drink
And why I learned to be patient with myself
I’d give up the nicotine rush
And drunkin happiness
If it meant I’m never reminded of you again.