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i don't feel like poetry.

so,
i like the cold.

yesterday,
megan and i were talking about rhode island.
i cried.
i miss it.
i feel like i live in all these different worlds.
cleveland, newport, germany, virginia, etc. [and i mean "etc" because the list continues].
sometimes memories hurt.
because i want to make more of them.
and i can't.

what if the thief
comes tonight,
and i am too busy
living?

i do what i want, but sometimes i do these things and afterwards i think: i didn't even want to do that ( Read more... )

i dreamed last night of everything nostalgic and it hurt to wake up. i was in a boy's bed (the boy wasn't there) and the morning light was warm where it slid between the shades and covered me like a blanket in the boy's bed.

and even though it meant nothing, it still hurts.

i love jeans with holes in them.

and i love Acceptance. good music.