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I found this old note he wrote me and folded into a pretty little boat while we were in class. it made me sick. his writing, his words, his smell. how did we get so close only to disappear from each other’s life. the most intense love. vanished.

it’s funny how stories never really end. sure, they do in in appearance. but deep inside, they remain, quiet and calm, hoping to find the right moment to make their way back.

I know I shouldn’t keep this, but I think it might end up on my inspiration wall as soon as my bedroom will be all shiny and white. I just can’t help it.

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