I am sorry sorry jeahreading, i called you lame, I was just having fun..please don't mind me...you are so good and charming like idk what to say...✨💫💫💫💫✨✨✨💖💖💖. You blog is so good...imma spam ur blog with likes now....✨. Sorry for those creepy anons again😭

Just had a moment where I realized that being a writer means I can write whatever I want, however I want. If I want to describe someone's voice using adjectives typically associated with flavor, I can. If I want to describe a feeling with a color or a color with a feeling, no one can stop me. It doesn't matter how a word is traditionally used, just that it makes sense in context, that my reader can conjure the right mental image. And I think that's pretty fucking cool.

She stopped then, and I just looked at her, her face gray and moonlit and split into a thousand little pieces by the weave of the window screen. Her wide, round eyes flitted back and forth from her notebook to me. 'Lots of people get divorced and don't kill themselves,' I said. 'I know,' she said, excitement in her voice. 'That's what I told Juanita Alvarez. And then she said...' Margo flipped the notebook page. 'She said that Mr. Joyner was troubled. And then I asked what that meant, and then she told me that we should just pray for him and that I needed to take the sugar to my mom, and I said forget the sugar and left.' I said nothing again. I just wanted her to keep talking-that small voice tense with the excitement of almost knowing things, making me feel like something important was happening to me. 'I think I maybe know why,' she finally said. 'Why?' 'Maybe all the strings inside him broke,' she said.