eighteen

Everything ends and everything begins and you are waiting for the moment that sparkles. The whole point of monotony and boredom and unremarkable days that you forget almost instantly is so that those moments you do love and cherish will shine out even brighter.

seventeen

You are bored; caged, like an animal. The words are soaring above your head like birds, but catching them is becoming impossible. Decipher. Are you certain that this is the reality?

Beauty is the only thing you search for.

sixteen

Remember. And hearing that voice on the phone after months of doing without is turning your brain to dust. Electricity pumped through your temples. Cannot handle this. Get excited, but don't be a dick about it.

fifteen

Lamenting broken hearts and lost genius. Silent tears. Your head is in another place, another time. Words bubble from your lips, excited, obsessive, but your sentences are twisted like rose vines, and you have repeated yourself so many times now that the conviction seems false. You are full of a single daydream, and no matter what you are doing your mind flutters back to the tragedy and the poetry. Above all, the resounding thought remains: can you write something that beautiful in the next five years?