sunday nights

so it's about 12.15 right now, and I'm supposed to be working on art but I seriously, seriously needed a sandwich. the pork I'm using is supposed to be for tomorrow's lunch, but I think there'll be enough. the point is, it's super late, I'm supposed to be making art, no one is up and I'm dancing around my kitchen cringing because even though I cannot STAND to cut white onions, we have no red onions and I can't eat a sandwich without them! unless it's like, peanut butter or banana or something... my finger hurts from the onion because i have a papercut. I'm wearing a hoodie and boxers and tube socks. i don't like going out. i like staying in; I feel as though I could be someone's short story. ode to a seventeen year old girl romanticizes the age of seventeen...
park that car
drop that phone
sleep on the floor
dream about me
maybe i missed something about seventeen, but to be honest i think i learned my lesson at sixteen. i just do not have the time! but now i am eighteen, so i have to figure out what the romanticized view of my current age is. otherwise how will i know what to live up to? hahaha.
i. adore. cat. stevens.
'i listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul
where i'll end up, well i think only God really knows
I've sat upon the setting sun
and i've never wanted water once
no never never never never never...'
to be honest, i didn't think you noticed. at all. and so now i am prompted to write. this PostSecret book was so full of things i could've said to other people, so much more than the others! i wanted to cut them out and frame them and give them as gifts. i wanted to tell you how disheartening it was waking up without you!
i always worry that someday arielle will get on a bus and go away. but then she says things that remind me how tied we are to each other. it's one of those things where there just is no replacement.