When all you have are piles of textbooks and mounds of photocopied handouts demanding for your undivided attention, everything else seems ten times more interesting.
When the past is nothing but a hazy and distant figure of someone getting smaller and smaller with each step you take, moving on stops feeling like a horrendous duty and starts to feel more natural- like breathing. They tell you that you've got nothing but the future and hundreds of glimmering possibilities laid out ahead of you and you believe them. But what they don't prepare you for is what happens when your past greets you with a smile in the middle of the road.
I have nothing to say except: I'm facing the last week of school and if I had several more sets of fingers, I'd cross them.
And:
March, please, go slow.
Seventeen and studying Psychology. I like books, coffee, lyricism, magic hour, (in)signifcant moments, free-verse poetry, mental disorders, female anatomy, pretty smiles, late night conversations, and the time it takes for two people to transcend the boundary between strangers and friends.
I keep sadness at bay by constantly falling in love with the little things in life. My name is Anna and this is where I try to write.
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