Monday, November 26, 2012

Liam and I broke up last night.

Monday, November 12, 2012

I don't think that there are any "special" people.

There are ordinary people who do special things.

That means that everyone has the potential to be interesting or extraordinary, and I like that.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Incomplete/unpublished blog posts that will probably never come to fruition:


On Friday I got really drunk with two boys in a dining hall. I took them to the top of my favorite fire escape and had a difficult time finding the words I wanted to say. I tried to light a cigarette from the wrong end and burned my thumb. We talked and walked around and I think that I was probably more drunk than the both of them but I didn't care.

I curtly told one of the boys that his dorm felt like a prison.

(I still think it feels like a prison.)


I feel like don't cherish anything anymore.

Not the sunlight coming through the windows
in perfect circles

I want to bottle the feeling of this room
and plant a kiss on every corner
or watching the sunset from the fire escape.
glowing orange cigarette ashes
and how they fall like stars


I'm looking forward to finding people to love, as I do people in New York and California and Colorado and Massachusetts and Indiana and Connecticut.


you don't have to like a poem
because it's a poem
just how you don't have to like a poem
because it's about you
and how you click your tongue
when you're disappointed
and your puddles of brown eyes
because you know
he's not that great of a poet
and the rhythm is


Instructions for the summer before you go away to college:

Smoke a grape-flavored cigar with your childhood best friend. It doesn't really taste like grape.

Drive over to your boyfriend's house at 2 in the morning. Cry into his pillow. Leave brown smudges of eyeliner on his nose and ears. Chew on your thumbnail while you drive home because the car is dangerously low on gas.


If you went here at midnight to the temple with the large field

where boys tried to start a fire years before

you would see a boy sitting alone

thinking about a girl


blades of wet grass grabbed at my feet

glow worm, running into light

expected some kind of magical creature

it just looked like a bug


In the course of the past four years, I have transformed from a gawky adolescent into a young adult in love.

Isn't it amazing?


Lies I am going to tell in college:
  • people call me Charlie
  • I've been a vegetarian since I was ten
  • this was the only school I applied to


Love is real.

It's like everything good in the world. It's hopeful and trusting and kind and patient and universal. It feels and smells and tastes just as good as it looks, if not better. You can find love in anything, anywhere. Love is for everybody.

It feels like warm fingertips and the soft space behind a rabbit's ears. It smells like my mom's perfume and early mornings. It tastes like warm milk.


It makes me so sad to see how Liam's dad broke his heart.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Will is asleep on my bed. My head is on his feet. He's been here since friday because of the hurricane and the fact that he goes to school just outside of new york.

Last night for halloween we went on a walk and we put little battery-powered candles in trees and on fences just to see what they would look like. I felt a little bit bad that I didn't really do anything halloween-related.

My new roommate is messy and a little bit loud, but we have similar music tastes and I think she's a great person.

Will's starting to stir a little bit.

College tastes like instant coffee and smells like incense.

I'm not flourishing here, but I'm getting by.


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