the first month of living on my own
anonymous descriptions of people i'm glad to have as my friends
a letter of a forgotten memory
maybe high school just isn't for me
Our shoes were ripped, our skin was dirty, our hair was filled with glitter and we had no money left in our wallets.
I don't feel like I'm spreading myself too thin, I only feel like I'm digging up even more parts of me. Sometimes it feels good to be messy.
A random excerpt from my journal the morning after a strange night out on the town