Jennifer

my wildest dream is to have a wild untamed garden full of flowers and vines and pathways and hidden benches and alcoves like the secret garden

“Isn’t it odd how much fatter a book gets when you’ve read it several times? As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells…and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower…both strange and familiar.” - Cornelia Funke, The Inkheart

let yourself be a cliche if it makes you happy. go to coffee shops and order something with too many syllables. cry yourself to sleep sometimes. kiss in the rain. draw on your arms. write bad poetry. write better poetry. fill notebooks with your crushes and hopes and yearnings. feel everything for the first time.

wanting to run away, but not the real kind. running away like how you saw it in childhood. running to endless woods that hid magic and monsters and adventure, running to hills filled with flowers and frogs and grasshoppers. swimming in ice-cold, clear streamed that the sunlight skipped and hopped off, packing one bag of crackers out of the drawer and having them last forever, one juice box, two cookies. not having to prepare but knowing the future of everlasting happiness and sunshine.