I don’t know whether to live at home (it’ll just be me and my dad, and much quieter) or rent a room in an apartment next semester. I’m so indecisive.
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11:38 pm 1 note
Don’t let your love become your mistake. Don’t let your writing eclipse what you are writing about. I know it’s strange coming from me, always claiming to immerse yourself in your writing, to pour yourself onto the page. But in a way it has nothing to do with words and everything to do with life. Writing is a plea for life. Language is a bridge.
5:36 pm 2 notes
I will not get into the nature. It would end up as a letter in a language only we would know. It would become a lament. A question. But I think I should write down the hows, the memories, the spine of who we have become. The past is automatic. Soon the substance will grey, become unquestioned, indiscernable. So I must take note. Once upon a time, they were real, and they were all that was. Before I lose them, I must let them go.
1. We had been searching for so long. We were ready to find whatever it was we were looking for in each other. But we were not the result of giving up.
2. Driving, anywhere. I think I loved him without knowing it. It was just the two of us then. Especially at night. As a goodbye, we’d gaze at the orbs of light as we left the city. I’d look up at the stars until my neck ached. I’d get anxious from the traffic and he’d hold my hand, even when he shouldn’t have.
3. I didn’t want to love. I didn’t want to be loved. I had been hurt and didn’t want to be hurt again.
4. He would bring me flowers when I was sad, and I would press them in my notebook. He wanted, more so than I did, for me to be happy.
5. We biked miles and miles. I relearned my body.
6. We snuck into the art building with a blanket at midnight. We hid in a corridor. We both ended up crying. We admitted to being human in the most human of ways. / “Hurt me. Please. Break my heart,” was the plea. My heart broke.
7. We lay on the sidewalk and watched the moon. The sky was a dome of black velvet, the moon a cut-out circle letting in the light. The whole town slept and the trees held their breath. They exhaled the wind. All light was the absence of darkness. All presence was the absence of something else.
8. We were the ghosts in a ghost town.
9. I could recreate myself and still be me. I told a story, mine, the one I wanted to tell. I guess we’re still figuring out the rest.
There are many others. But these have yet to settle.
12:57 am 9 notes
I have four major (and final!) projects to work on this weekend: a feminist manifesto (in zine form), a cultural anthropology paper, a history paper, and an english paper. I can do this, right?
11:37 pm 4 notes
I spend like thirty minutes trying to figure out how to email my professors
And they usually just reply with one word or 528342 question marks
7:11 pm 5 notes
I can’t wait to finish my first semester of college! Just a few more weeks left. I’ll finally be able to breathe.
8:48 pm 2 notes
