The process of crying feels performative.

There’s only so much of everyone else’s sound we can tolerate.

Might not sound like much of a gift to you.

Jewellery is the authentication of opulence.

If fashion is fickle, style is substance.

Suddenly, everything you say is interpreted dubiously.

Manners felt like some laborious Britishism, a hangover from when ladies and gentlemen were well-to-do.

It’s important to remind yourself, nothing lasts forever.

Life is to be enjoyed, not overanalysed.

I don’t ask my friends for care; it’s an expectation.

Labels matter. Ironic, given the decades spent disposing of them.

Tales of rags to riches reiterate that being broke has no beauty. I beg to differ.

You’re constantly reminded, everything has a value to everyone else, why shouldn’t it to you?

Apathetically, he uttered, "why does it matter?", infallible farther logic.

Reality emerges as the illusion disperses.

Spar provided the backdrop to profound scenes, moments of the utmost unimportance.

These phrases are of their moment and not for preservation.