hearing your brother singing really loudly in the bathroom then sneaking all around the house to get the camera and singing along loudly when you walk up to the door with the camera on
wearing band-aids bc they’re cute
complimenting other girls bc they’re cute
having 47 sweaters and realizing you want more but where’s the room? so you give them away to friends, thrift shops, and charities after taking a thousand farewell selfies in them with your friends
being open about keeping a journal and writing a lot of fluff but with one or two sentences about how you’re really, really scared in the middle of the page. you’ve learned a little bit about the off topic bits of journals and how they’re the most important parts.
the smell of hot glue and the rhythmic thrumming of a sewing machine
waking up at three am bc you’re really sad and watching cartoons alone in the living room
scrapbook monsters all filled to bursting
forgetting what little words and big words alike mean but always remembering someone’s favorite color.
art therapy and traveling the world
never wanting to forget how close you can be to people because they go away, they go away because they want to. but not because of you, right?
crowd pleasing and pretending you’re okay even when you’re scared of everything and you can’t sleep.
eating candy that doesn’t taste good because you don’t want the color to go to waste
wrapping up your snowglobes in two sweaters when you move for the first time. there’s something sad about seeing them break.
making movies and radio shows and operas and spaghetti masterpieces bc you want people to laugh. whether it’s with or at you, you think sometimes you don’t care.
spray paint and lisa frank and off-brand converse and too-long, half-combed hair and the universe being open and ready to hold you and jumping into the bottomless pit and knowing you’ll float