Ramblings of a Sleep Deprived Student

I think that there's nothing more romantic than coffee in the evening.

I swear I have all the qualities of a poet but not the skills.

The crickets chirping fills this hot Australian lounge room and I'm glad you're sitting by my side.

The Australian bush always finds a way to make me immensely sentimental, plaguing me with flights of fancy. Oh how I revel in it.

As I looked half through my glasses and half straight through the car windows beside, I felt as though I was touching upon revelation after revelation, unearthing the mysteries of the human heart, the human mind, the human soul. But in fact, I was thinking nothing, with no thoughts of revelation indeed. In actuality, I was crafting these poetic words, thinking of a revelation that did not happen.

Why must I rebel against popular trends? What am I trying to fight?

This summer is filled with sticky peach juice running down my arms and the pages of books.

Wading in the sea foam fills me with the tender embrace of a youthfulness not get outgrown.

And as I walked down Templeton Street and I saw my religion. In the roads carving the country, in the bricks making a home, in the shrubs dotting driveways and in the trees that bank shoot upwards. I saw it in the houses where people lazed and in the wave of a stranger. I heard the wind whisper its prophecies and I bowed down in prayer. Tell me your secrets and I will bare mine. Make me vulnerable. I'll give up everything just please write me anew. Something with beauty and wonder and curiosity and innocence. Something that lingers in people's thoughts.

The car is gone and my dad is not home. I hope he comes back. Surely.