The Worst is Over: Emotional shit. →
I’m working on a poetry journal and a poster for class. I’m back at my parents’ house and I was looking for stuff to include in both of these.
For the last four years, the top, right part of my bookshelf has been home to a stack of envelopes, books, letters and more. They’re letters of my past. A…
Oh girl, let me once again publicly decree how much I love your writing style! Though on the real, real, real, real, real— I’m now saddened for the same reasons, and more. Sometimes I think I’ll never finish my undergrad. It’s weird looking back, huh?
