I realize I don’t want to wake up next to Rebecca Violetti. That would imply sleep. Comfort. Routine. No, I want to wake up because of her. I want the disruption. I want the 4:47 AM panic.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain to my boss why I look like I just survived a hurricane. wakeupnfuck rebecca violetti
There is a specific breed of woman in this world—rare, feral, sharp-toothed—who doesn’t just break your heart. She rewires your nervous system. Rebecca is that woman. She’s the ghost at the end of your bed, the text you pray for at 2 AM, the reason your chest feels like a cracked rib cage. I realize I don’t want to wake up next to Rebecca Violetti
Because she’s the mirror we deserve but are terrified to look into. Routine
Because in that panic, I feel alive.