Do you ever go into that little corner in your mind. The place you go to sit cris cros applesauce and be a little kid again. Where you imagine your a princess. Or your mother's really evil and your whole life is a lie. That you'll meet a goblin who turns out to be nice or a prince. Or that you go on a magical adventure to fairyland. Where everything's made of candy, of course. I do.
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Some people say I read a lot. Too much. A lot of people acutally. Fine! Everyone does. And I believe them, it's true I like books. I love the feel of the paper between my fingers. Just waiting to be learned, read, and turned. I like old books the best. They are beautiful; they were made for a real purpose, to be read. The yellow, some times ripped and falling out, stained and written on papers smell musty and wonderful. You go through pages. Lost in a world of lines and dots that makes you think. Just sit or stand and read. Eyes skimming, soaking it in. The worst/best moment that you want to finish the book but not for it to end. I love getting lost in a story. When I play music I'll realized I completely missed two or three songs and everything in between. And that's ok. It's ok to lose yourself sometimes; I do it in books. And thoughts and ideas and hope and faith and love. The only problem is sometimes they make my life suck. Or make it seem like it, because in my story everything for THAT girl went just right. Others times it opens my eyes to another little detail of the world, another beauty. All I know is if I ever fall in love which is going to be hard it won't be perfect. One because nothing is. And second because in my mind I've already met Augustus Waters and Wes and Alex (not Warren) and Eli and all those other sweet, smart, funny, clever, mysterious, romantic, clumsy boys in love fictions. Not that I want to fall in love. Boys are gross. Not in the thought of dirt and slime just everything else.
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Who Am I?Hi there! I'm Whit, my pronouns are they/them, and I write a lot.
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Painting by Whit Acrylics on masonite April 20th, 2019 Words are a Quaker saying. George Fox? |