Working at a museum gives me plenty of time to people-watch. Guests are unaware of my presence and act like no one can see them in the dimly lit exhibits. I get to observe them in their most vulnerable state, the one where they forget the people around them.
Thank you Emerson, but I’m transferring.
I have never felt so genuinely excited about someone before and he is a potential option for future me, but I’m truly just so bored by everyone else.
Well, I could never be actually done. But I’m sick of bad writing.
Sometimes there is no salve as healing as an uncontrollable, guttural fit of sobbing.
I’d like to say I was a secure person; however, I know my habits and fears from my chubby childhood will stay with me forever.
I am my own cheerleader.
I view poetry as more sacred now; when I write about someone they have to truly mean something to me.
While she makes it clear they’re platonic dates, that line is quickly blurred as we get to know these two…