Five years. 26. That’s always seemed like “The Age” to me, for some reason. The age to be done with school, undergrad and grad. Or the age to be happily situated in a career. The age to get married. The age to have your life figured out.
My best friend was a writer before I even knew I was. She was the “typical artsy type” with her heavy eyeliner and clothing reminiscent of Aria Montgomery. In a way, she visibly represented the kind of person I wanted to be, with her bubbly nature and edgy style, and her notebooks…
My answer is simple: history is what I strive to be apart of. Yes, my family will remember my chicken scratch long after I’m gone and the irritating nights where I could barely squeeze out a non-fragmented declaritve sentence, but what about everyone else? Other than my teacher and…
I don’t remember how this obsession started for me, but it’s something that I always expressed interest in since I was pretty little. Maybe it got started after my mom took me to the library on…