These are everyday scenes of no one special. Just me. They spill over from the piles of full notebooks that are lying around. Maybe they’ll find a place here.





For those of you who spend the time and read information about other people for no reason:

I'm 22, currently going to school for English Education (fancy way of saying "to be an english teacher") and a minor in art. That's right, I'm the crazy writer/artist. Wanna know anything else? Feel free to ask.

 

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.

Richard Siken, Crush

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