She's 17.8 and without a clue. Morning glories and clouds are the way into her heart.
This girl sits on her bed with The Hobbit propped on her lap and The xx is playing in the background. With tacky Snoopy pajamas on and dark circles under her eyes from too many late nights, she marks her place in the book and gets up to make a cup of milk tea in hopes that she'll still be awake enough to following along when 10:00pm rolls around and Elementary comes on the TV. No sugar, but maybe a pinch of instant coffee because she's weird like that.
One glance outside at a blistering Canadian winter, wondering why it is that she is so sad and lonely all the time, thinking about all the reasons that might explain why she doesn't know what it's like to be in love yet. She traces the sharp scratches on the window pane that are so reminiscent of other things, like ghosts and demons, and sca-
But enough of that. She turns away sharply from the window, 'Don't let yourself fall into bad habits', she reminds herself. She tries to find something distracting, like organizing her collection of typography books, which she bought purely because she loves the study of fonts and not because she needs them for some class god dammit.
"Oh well", she sighs, "It's not like you don't already embarrass yourself, what with knowing your 19-digit library card number by heart and your petty distaste of orange and keeping current with Glee and whatnot." After picking up some stray heels and putting them away, because she's short as fuck, this girl flops on the couch, debating whether or not a comma is appropriate for that one line in the poem she's writing, until 10:00pm comes 'round and she can move away from the reality she hates being in.
This girl sits on her bed with The Hobbit propped on her lap and The xx is playing in the background. With tacky Snoopy pajamas on and dark circles under her eyes from too many late nights, she marks her place in the book and gets up to make a cup of milk tea in hopes that she'll still be awake enough to following along when 10:00pm rolls around and Elementary comes on the TV. No sugar, but maybe a pinch of instant coffee because she's weird like that.
One glance outside at a blistering Canadian winter, wondering why it is that she is so sad and lonely all the time, thinking about all the reasons that might explain why she doesn't know what it's like to be in love yet. She traces the sharp scratches on the window pane that are so reminiscent of other things, like ghosts and demons, and sca-
But enough of that. She turns away sharply from the window, 'Don't let yourself fall into bad habits', she reminds herself. She tries to find something distracting, like organizing her collection of typography books, which she bought purely because she loves the study of fonts and not because she needs them for some class god dammit.
"Oh well", she sighs, "It's not like you don't already embarrass yourself, what with knowing your 19-digit library card number by heart and your petty distaste of orange and keeping current with Glee and whatnot." After picking up some stray heels and putting them away, because she's short as fuck, this girl flops on the couch, debating whether or not a comma is appropriate for that one line in the poem she's writing, until 10:00pm comes 'round and she can move away from the reality she hates being in.