The way a book smells when you thumb through it. The way quiet winter air makes you feel like no one else exists. The smell of the woods after a thunderstorm. That split second before your chair tips back. The feeling right before you cry. These things, I live for.
Do you have those people at school that when you see them in the courtyard or something or pass them in the hallway you make an ugly face at them and they make it back at you and that's just how you say hi when you're not close enough to actually say hi
You’re not the breath I breathe, just the sweet scent that I enjoy. You’re not the sights I see, just the most beautiful of them. You’re not the water I drink, just the flavor that makes it taste so good. You’re not the ground I walk on, just the partner I sometimes lean on. You’re not the blood in my veins, just what makes it burn so sweetly. You’re not my life, just the one I want to spend it with. You’re not my world, just the best thing in it.
what I'm thinking about saying to my mom about a concert i want to go to: "You know that band that I love?" and she would be like "which one?" and i would give her hints and somehow get her to say All Time Low then be like "yeeeeaaaaaa And you know that day this year? october 24th?" "yeah..." she'd say and you know that thing, (and here I would explain a concert and say i forget what it was called)" she'd be like "a concert?" and then "yes. I'll just leave you with that" So, you think it'll work?
THE SPOON Some days I think I need nothing more in life than a spoon. With a spoon I can eat oatmeal Or take the medicine doctors prescribe I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill or pound the table to get attention. I can point accusingly at God or stab the empty air repeatedly. Looking into the spoon’s mirror, I can study my face in its shiny bowl, or cover one eye to make half the world disappear. With a spoon I can dig a tunnel to freedom spoonful by spoonful of dirt, or waste life catching moonlight and flinging it into the blackest night. -- Richard Jones