Hey there, I'm Ali. I'm 19 years old. I love to write and read and draw and paint and listen to music much too loudly, as long as it gets me away from where I am.
A thing that I actually just said about my writing:
“Like the beginning of the piece starts out with me having this mental battle with the presence of a christmas tree—its wonky disposition to be exact, but is interrupted by seemingly irrelevant thoughts about like oceanic versions of fireflies and my opinions on evaporated milk…”
I need to stop, yo.
i think i actually cried tears of joy when my creative non-fiction professor said i had youthful wisdom
fucking around in the plaza today
not going to class
talking to all my favorite people
met a giant rabbit
"You look like a forest nymph who sometimes turns into a mermaid…who is also writing things" -Katherine
I just want it to actually feel like spring time—like, consistently. I just keep thinking of that time I wrote..
When your boyfriend breaks up with you by telling you that he never actually loved you, do the following:
Start smoking heavily.
Become a vegetarian.
Dye your hair weird fucking colors.
Dance in the lounge to Hey Ya.
Let’s play a game. It’s called How Many Classes Will I Cry in Today?
My guess is 2. I have three classes today. I already skipped the first one because I was too busy crying.
Someone, for god’s sake, please kill me.