And I’m mourning the loss of that part of me. The Dreamer. The well-rested and inquisitive youngin’ who wanted fun. There wasn’t a need for money. No need for rude jokes, either. Just cute hugs, dreams, and questions.
I want to write music again. The score to Inception moves me, and now all I want to do is wail at a piano. Weh.
I’m craving you. Not in a sexual way. Not at all.
I crave nothing intimate. It’s the feeling of your hand in mine. The way your curly hair bounces and the way we just hung out and watched a horror movie rested on your bed without really caring about anything. More of that. More wrestling and more playing with your hair. I fucking love playing with your hair. And your fingers.
This doesn’t mean I want to date you, does it?
Shut up, just kiss meh.
The ferry I take to work.
I may or may have not spent 45 minutes of my day fretting over nothing. As in, yes, I absolutely fucking did.
While scheduling classes at campus the other day, I was constantly reminded that classes start on January 21st. I was also constantly waiting in line, but at least the staff is kind enough to remind me of important calendar events while that was happening. The point being, I realized that today was the 20th around 6pm (I’ve had the day off, forgive me) and then proceeded to flip. my. shit about what to do about tomorrow, the dreaded twenty first. You see, friend, I’m scheduled on the floor at Starbucks from noon until 4:00pm. My classes take place between noon and 3:15pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Tomorrow is Saturday.
My new college backdrop. As much as I would’ve preferred returning to the University of New Orleans, being this close to City Park for study sessions/sun baths is kind of an okay compromise.
I can see the sunrise.
Really, though. Great day and all. I’ve been happy and relaxed the whole time. Just. I’m not sure.
Wanting more out of this, as it currently stands.
