There were entire months where I did nothing remotely productive at all, I skipped college as much as I could, spent my days in bed with my laptop and no human company whatsoever, just the idea of studying made me laugh. I'd studied before, worked real hard to chase my dreams and look where that got me. A sorry excuse of a college that I never would have even considered before. I full-on hated the place. My dreams were long destroyed and this was my new shitty reality. And even though I was bound to live in it, I avoided it as much as I possibly could.

But then, there were times when I let the veil lift a little, and ideas of less shitty realities would pop up. Like what it would be like to study oceanography at the University of Hawaii. Or go sky diving every weekend. Or permenantly move to Fiji. Or be the author of a bestselling book series. Or any of a million other pipe dreams. I'd try to stuff myself into one of these scenarios,but it was like wearing a size thirty-seven sneaker when your foot is a forty—you can get by for a few steps, and then you sit down and pull off the shoe because it just plain hurts too much. I am convinced that there is a censor sitting in my brain with a red stamp, reminding me what I am not supposed to even think about, no matter how seductive it might be.It's probably a good thing. I have a feeling that if I really try to figure out who I am, I'm not going to like who I see.

Another thing about me is that I suck at headlines

I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep,too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold-hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes. I like the smell of wet pavement in the rain. I hate nights for how gloomy they make me feel and I love bright morning light. I have an irrational hatred for the month July because every single disaster in my life happened in that month..Okay, so maybe my hatred is a bit rational after all. I hate cold weather and runny noses and being weighed down by endless layers of heavy clothes, and that's why I prefer summer to winter. 

I cannot begin to tell you how much I'm in love with non-realistic fiction books and fries, or how certain games, songs and shows can make me happy. I would pick books over human company any day, week, month and year. I can never sleep anywhere other than my own bed. If scrambling eggs counts as cooking, then yes I can cook. And if shoving things wherever they will fit counts as cleaning then yes I can also clean. I don't think I'm funny. I do, however, think that I look bad in all my facebook pictures. I have a lot of goals, but I don't have enough determination to accomplish any of them. I need to be pushed in order to be productive and most of the time there's no one there to give me that extra push that I so desperately need, so I fail. 

I'd like to think that maybe someday, I would muster up enough courage to leave everything behind and never look back. To escape this city that has planted a seed of wrath in my heart and leave it behind along with the sadness that has slowly become a part of me. I'd like to think that maybe one day I would go to art galleries with people I love, run there like total weirdos and leave the place before anyone catches us. I want to get lost on the road with them, discover places no one has ever been to. Live in an apartment that we would fill with music and art and weird paintings and shitty food that we cooked but still ate despite how horrible it tastes because we cooked it and we're awesome. And maybe we could go to amusement parks, ride the roller coaster  - and feel perfectly okay with screaming our lungs out, then laughing about it until we lose our voices. I just want us to live everyday as spontaneous as it could get, be as happy as we could ever be, and maybe for the first time I’d end the day with an “Oh my god, I think this is what I have always been dreaming of. This is it. It’s true, I’m happy, and I swear I’m not asking for more.”

Writing

Writing is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. 
What you have scribbled on paper is captured forever… 
it remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything.