I might be moving to New York to work and live until Europe. I had to tell someone. I’ll keep you posted. 

A couple nights ago I met this kid who was in my town visiting from Long Island. He was cute and had the sexiest New York Italian accent I have ever heard in my life. I was in love from first talk. 

We hung out. We did hooligan stuff. We cuddled. We made out. But I wasn’t thinking anything of it. Because he was leaving the day after I met him. 

I got a call that day. Saying that he cancelled his flight and wasn’t leaving until 5 in the morning the day after. So I had to come spend the rest of the night with him. I did, of course. And we cuddled. But we didn’t make out. And I think that was one of the nicest things. He just gave me little kisses. Here and there. Told me if he lived where I did he “would marry [me] in a friggin’ heartbeat.” Also told me that if I don’t come visit him this summer, he’s coming in August to see me. 

Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. But all I know is that it was a really awesome experience. And I wish he had stayed. And now I am lonely yet again.

Each person who has loved me. Each boy. Each interest. Has taken my artist of a heart and held it. Held it so tightly that it was consumed entirely by feelings and emotions. Infatuation. As though they were warlocks and I was entranced. Entranced in the most wonderful spell I could imagine. 

And then they left. And they dropped my artist of a heart on the front step. And I was expected to just forget. Forget about the feelings and the emotions and the infatuation. 

However there is no spell for forgetting, no magic memory eraser. 

So now I sit lonely and contemplative. I know of this spell. And because of that, I will never be able to get out of it. Or that’s how it feels. I will fill the void with anyone who is willing. But only for a bit. Because if there is no spell. I will get bored. And if there is a spell. Well. We all know how it will end. 

People always question why I never cry at the sad parts in movies. I only cry at the happy parts. 

Well, I figure there is a lot of sadness in this world, that happens. My life has been filled with sadness. So it doesn’t phase me. But the happy stuff, the genuine and poignant happy parts, are hard to come by. That’s why I cry.

Happiness isn’t often found, but when it is, it is beautiful. 

I hate falling asleep in an empty house in an empty bed. I’m so lonely. I just looked through my archive and found a conversation I had posted between Ben and I.. God he was perfect. Fuck it all. I’m so fucking done feeling shit. 

I need money and I need Europe. 

What I want: 

1. Wake up in the morning after a night of kisses and cuddles and blankets and pillows.
2. Person who has provided said kisses and cuddles and blankets and pillows to wake up a little bit early, but lets me keep sleeping, and makes me a breakfast of avocado and  eggs and toast and deliciousness. 
3. Said person to say, “Leave the dishes, we’ll do it later!” And then more kisses and cuddles and naps and netflix. 
4. Then we read poetry together and maybe watch a season of something ridiculous and play music. 
5. Then once we are well-rested, we get up, put on some spiffy clothes, and get sushi. So much sushi, in fact, we need to bring it back in boxes to eat later after we have had more kisses and cuddles and blankets and pillows. 

I know that’s not too much, right? ;) 

I should probably become a prostitute if I want to raise enough money for Europe. 

Probably.

Going through the costs and logistics of this all is weird and scary. But I am so ready. I need to be immersed in culture and people and literature and accents and life. I can’t have this bullshit anymore. 

Inspiration is what I need, and inspiration is what I am going to find. 

I’m not going to college next year. 

And there we have it.