This bitterness, rushing through my veins

Leaves me gasping,

Leaves me heaving,

for just one breath of air.

One should not have to beg on their knees for a breath of air.

7. A time you cried (or felt like crying) at school

Thinking about these questions really do foster sincere and worthy self-evaluation. I refuse to answer, though.

8. Favorite book you actually read for English class

Where would I even begin? 

It’s easy to say which book I despised more than anything—Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying.  It was the only work I couldn’t finish for my life…with all other books, I tried my very best to be studious and read. I just couldn’t do it with Faulkner.

A list of my favorites, though:

• Fahrenheit 451 (Judge me.)
• Lord of the Flies (I loved this.) 
• Jane Eyre (Oh my goodness, an endless amount of tears…)
• Does Keats count? His poetry would be my number one, hands down.
• The Great Gatsby (MORE TEARS SDKFFSD)
• Death of a Salesman (So many tears..) 
• Catcher in the Rye (After I discovered the beauty of it last Friday in a class discussion and I was in emotional pieces.)

So many great books throughout the years..

alex-ivy:

There they lay, on spongy mattress amidst disheveled bedroom, while he contemplated the distance of unfamiliarity spread out between them that physical intimacy couldn’t bridge. He could feel her shallow breathing and leaned over to watch her eyes flutter about beneath their lids; she was likely dreaming. There were so many things he needed to tell her: that he thought law school was a very good thing; that even if they didn’t get along, she should call her mother because, as he knew, you only get one, and grudges and regret are about the most useless things he’d ever found; that if she really felt that way she should toss it all out the window after graduation and just go for it, and he really did think she had talent.

But these aren’t things you tell relative strangers and they certainly aren’t things you wake them up to tell them. Still, he couldn’t shake the undeniable reality of it all, that they both kept closets filled with how they chose for the world to see them; and they always chose wisely before stepping through the door. He needed her to know that this naked silence was the most honest he’d ever been with anyone, even if she thought him crazy for it.

“But suppose you struggle through to the good and find that it is also dreadful? How if food itself turns out to be the very thing you can’t eat, and home the very place you can’t live, and your very comforter the person who makes you uncomfortable? Then, indeed, there is no rescue possible: the last card has been played.”

—C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

Writers..how I think like them. (As desolate as this quote is..)

Musings

• I channeled all my inner rage and frustration into pure productivity today. Why can’t it always work out like this?
• I read a little something as I was scrolling down my dashboard today. It read something like this—“You make one mistake and the world judges you.” And that statement caught me off guard. Because for the most part, it’s true. But I’d like to think people will only judge you after you make a series of mistakes, and you continually prove to others that you are either this person or you are not. Many times have I judged someone based off one obscure thing I heard about them, and I realize now how foolish that is. 
• On the other hand, people have come to pass judgement on each other left and right, especially as the fiendish high school seniors we are have become over the years. It amuses me when people still care, as we are preparing to graduate in less than a month. Some things simply don’t matter anymore..

Confession.

ambiguous-transparency:

I want to kiss you to make meaning, not pass it off as a mere statistic. I want you to embrace me even with my scars, telling me I would not be here being this beautiful if it weren’t for them. I want to cry when you get down on one knee and put a promise of love that infinity would loop out its route for on my finger. I want to make lasting impressions on your bed, on our bed, of us. I want you to give me your name but never forget who I was without it, because that’s the girl you fell in love with from the start. I want to include you when I define myself. I want, I want you, just you.