i can't handle fragile things.

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something something mortifying ordeal of being known something something

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i was getting my haircut today and the barber starts talking to his friend in Albanian. he then says to me "it must be weird hearing it, sounds like its from another planet". i respond with "i dont mind, a lot of my friends speak other languages. i always ask them to roast me in their native tongue and i will never know what they say". he then says "whenever someone hears a new language the first thing they want to learn is how to curse and swear. no one ever wants to learn the pretty words". it stuck with me we draw so few breaths on this planet, why waste it on fighting
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hello stranger

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