Words of a teenage escapist.

I want to write again. This feels great. This sets my heart on fire. It's too hot to go outside but I can taste sunshine on my tongue. I want to fly and scream at everyone below how tragic life is but beautiful all the same. My insides are squirming, my fingers itching for pen and and paper, my ears yearning for the sound of scribbles and scrawls and words and sentences bumping against each other. I want to trap someone in a huge embrace even though I smell like wood smoke and vanilla frosting at the moment, not really a good mix. But most of all, this feeling of wanting to write makes me love myself again. I have hated and I have loved myself countless times this past week but right now, I am in love. I am in love with life and the world and everything inside me.

See what writing does to me?

Wonderful, isn't it?