I read. I write. I rant.
“A: Frances? F: Yeah? A: I don’t really like it here. F: ... Where? A: Do you like it here? F: Where?” Alice Oseman, Radio Silence art by: anukriti hush, baby, cry softly you’re standing on the edge of the roof, desperately hoping that the concrete stretches out farther than you’d expected. you’re okay, okay,… Continue reading at least we’re under the same sky
it comes back to me in brief flashes of memories. the worn out chuck taylors on the floor, laces undone; the muted afternoon sunlight filtering in through the blue curtains, the messy bed with mismatched pillows and blankets and sheets. it's in the clutter of the desk with half a dozen books crammed on it… Continue reading what home sounds like
it's this crushing kind of sadness. you don't know where it comes from, you don't know why it's here. it's just a normal afternoon but suddenly all you want to do is curl up into yourself on the bed and let it consume you. it's just there along with a heavy heart and sometimes, you… Continue reading a crushing kind of sadness
Halloween Short Story Written By- Audrey Francis-Plante from audreywritesabroad & Nimika from wordhaven. HOUR 8 “Okay, okay,” I mutter to myself as I walk toward the next room. “Calm down. It was all in your head. It’s all just in your head.” It’s in your head. It’s in your head. It’s in your head. I cross the hole in a wall… Continue reading Night at the Asylum // Hours 8-10
Halloween Short Story Written By- Audrey Francis from audreywritesabroad & Nimika from wordhaven. HOUR 1 HOUR 2 We spend the rest of the first hour in the van with Phoebe and Chandler, editing that short video. Then Rachel is bouncing from foot to foot. “All right! BDA awaits, guys! Let’s do this!” I look out… Continue reading Night At The Asylum // Hours 1-7
do you remember those evenings sketched in poetry when we traded truths with barbs and broke our hearts? when the lights were soft and the colors were muted but our blood was on fire and our veins were electrocuted. we were soft words spoken in the dark, burning lyrics chased by cold whiskey and biting… Continue reading crash & burn
he was grey skies, tired eyes, hoodies that are oversized, words scrawled on page corners, denim jackets with turned up collars. she was coffee mugs, lingering hugs, fairy lights, movie nights, broken smiles and dusty book piles. they were pouring rains, laughter in chains, f r a g i l e like paper airplanes.
The world is a mess around us, Too bright, too out of focus. So, I whisper, "Take me somewhere." And we drove, the two of us. Daring and rebellious, we challenged Reality to catch up. Farther down the road, up the hill, amongst the stars, Farther still. You rolled down the windows, I propped my… Continue reading Drive Again
I think I might just be having half of a quarter life crisis. So, you know, John Green and his "unrealistic, way too mature teenage" characters (yes, the presence of the double quotes indicate Chandler levels of sarcasm) and their incredibly mature discussions about life and shit? Yeah, teenagers actually talk about that stuff at… Continue reading I’m Almost Not Sixteen
"Beta, that's literally just a page with doodles on it- of course I threw it away." You know what? No. That's not just a piece of paper with doodles on it because it has memories imprinted on it. What you see when you look at it: Miscellaneous crap. What I feel when I look at… Continue reading The Art of Hoarding
