(no subject)
I've been sitting around a lot lately with this infinite sort of wonderment for everything around me and I get a bit curious, as to whether or not I'll ever be able to put into words what I feel for the world, what I feel for this place and these people. And there are times that I wish I could just write what I see at the very moment I see it, because I'm pretty sure I'd have a good, soild chapter for All that Matters, for once. People tend to ask, when you find yourself nearing the end of grade eleven, what you plan to do with your life. I'm never able to say "write" or something as equally artsy as it -- I always tell them I don't know and I'm afraid people will get the impression that I plan on being a lazy bum for the rest of my life. I don't have the capability, yet, to really decide on something. And I don't think I should have to at seventeen, and I'm sure that if I do declare and decide to go down the path of writing I'll no longer be able to write. I just feel like it would work out that way.
What I'm trying to say with all of this uselessness is that...Well, I'm feeling quite inspired and I love that I have this story to take it out in. I'm trying to offer some sort of promise that this next chapter will be Lily at her very best. Because I think I'm going to be at my very best.
Take care.
What I'm trying to say with all of this uselessness is that...Well, I'm feeling quite inspired and I love that I have this story to take it out in. I'm trying to offer some sort of promise that this next chapter will be Lily at her very best. Because I think I'm going to be at my very best.
Take care.