Thomas Edison.

(via.)

Dear Fleur.
Fine.
I admit it.
Or at least most of it.

I cry in movie theatres and pretend I didn't.
I have this desire to own my own closet just so I can sit underneath all my hanging clothes and write.
I am not afraid to live alone.
I don't care what they say, I think Emily Dickinson knew what she wanted.
I have read Peter Pan 54 times.
I want to finish Manly.
I hate singing in front of people.
I teach martial arts. Yes, yes I do. And I'm proud of it.
I was in love with Dinosaurs till I was 13 years old.
My room is a mess.
I want a box of sequins.
I AM BAD AT DRIVING.
I spent the first 14 years of my life never watching people kiss on the television screen. And when I actually saw it, I never looked away again.
Even if it's the most stupid thing in the world, if I have children, the first boy is being named "Bear". But it's whatever.
When I'm 28 I am moving to France.
You can never have enough camisoles.
Sock drawers are for boys.
Charles Dickens killed off my favourite in Nicholas Nickleby. And I still don't know why.
I miss people in California.
"I have measured out my life in coffee spoons."
Orchards are attractive to me.
I make cinnamon rolls in hopes of company coming. They never do.
I will have a piano when I grow up.
And.
My dreams at night? I wish you could see them.

Love.Bells.

PostScript: This is sort of a list. Of what I will be writing about the next few days. Because it's what I've been thinking about the past few days.