this is something i need.
my favorite flowers: peonies. 
my favorite color: that deep, perfect pink right there. do you see it? THAT is my favorite color.
i know, i know. 
most people think orange—and a very particular shade of orange—is my favorite color, but they are mistaken indeed. burnt orange is seemingly my favorite color bc i wear it all time and i drive it and i have so many stuff and things in that color 
but this the thing: i don’t necessarily do this bc i love the color so much—although, it is a very, very beautiful color—i do it bc i love ut so much and it’s the easiest way to literally show my love. 
anddd that is why i wear burnt orange, bc i bleed it, too. i love ut. 

this is something i need.

my favorite flowers: peonies. 

my favorite color: that deep, perfect pink right there. do you see it? THAT is my favorite color.

i know, i know.

most people think orange—and a very particular shade of orange—is my favorite color, but they are mistaken indeed. burnt orange is seemingly my favorite color bc i wear it all time and i drive it and i have so many stuff and things in that color

but this the thing: i don’t necessarily do this bc i love the color so much—although, it is a very, very beautiful color—i do it bc i love ut so much and it’s the easiest way to literally show my love.

anddd that is why i wear burnt orange, bc i bleed it, too. i love ut. 

favorite thing: being in the car with a boy; boy is driving.
i have my feet up on the seat* and i’m leaning to the right, a lot of my weight on the center console, and my head is resting on my propped up left arm—you get the picture.
i hardly ever take my eyes off you. when and if you’re talking, i’m looking at you. maybe i’m talking and i get really animated and lost in my monologue; you continue driving and quietly think to yourself that you’re very happy you’re the one driving bc my clearly volatile ((passionate!!!)) exclamations would not be conducive to transporting us to wherever it is we find ourselves needing to be. 
maybe we’re listening to music and you turn it way up and i do that thing where i hover between singing and lip syncing and i dance with my fingers and my head bops from side to side… always a little off beat and always a bit off key. hopefully you start singing and dancing, too OR you look over at me endearingly and remark, yet again, that i’m a totally tone-deaf, rhythm challenged dork and a half. it amazes us that i use to dance—and that i dance(d) well, too. we laugh.
i will sometimes lean my head on your shoulder as you drive and listen to your musings.
((i love how people lose themselves when they drive. they’re focused on driving, navigating, checking blind spots, and then all the sudden, they’re talking, too: sometimes about nothing—which is my favorite—and sometimes about something—which is my second favorite. it’s as if the open road inspires an open mind. i find myself carefully considering every little thing spouting out of your mouth. everything is more amusing, mortal, fleeting, beautiful, precious.))
the beauty is in the tragedy: all car rides end. you leave your little box and venture into the world—a cruel, cold world. you put on your big girl pants and leave those moments in the car. because of my affection for this, the comfort and security i feel in the car is always met with the brash, swift reality of the world outside a car. inside, i’m delicate, easily amused, constantly daydreaming and romanticizing, literally taking in every breath to the fullest, and holding on for dear life. imagine what my soul feels when the car stops and i have to turn the music off and step out into the “real” world. it is utterly tragic. and beautiful. such stuff as dreams are made on
it’s easy to get back in though.
it’s like returning home to a mythical, magical place that only you fully understand and appreciate. 
it’s a place that’s always in motion—literally. it changes all the time, but it stays the same. 
it’s hard for me to fathom into coherent words what exactly i’m trying to express so forgive me. 
i will add that it would be super fantastic if i looked to my left and saw james franco driving us someplace. sign me up for that, please.
*in college i wrote an extensive research paper about behavioral manifestations inspired by fears and paranoia. i go to great lengths and sometimes subject myself to less than comfortable physical situations because i am embarrassingly petrified by spiders and other creepy crawlers. this is why i never place my feet flat on the floor regardless of where i am: home, restaurant, school, work, the movies, etc, etc. it even bothers me to have my left foot on the floor of my car while driving. i will usually—albeit awkwardly—situate it on top of this ridge along the door or just have it up on the seat which makes me feel like a pirate. should there ever be a bug graze pass my foot or across my legs, i shall say a quick prayer and prepare myself for an inevitable car crash. you have no idea how many times i have had to pull over, stop the car, get out, and appease and beg bugs to vacate my vehicle. on a number of particularly absurd occasions where my pleading proved futile, i would cry helplessly, and remorsefully call someone for emotional support. 
yes, i am being completely serious.

favorite thing: being in the car with a boy; boy is driving.

i have my feet up on the seat* and i’m leaning to the right, a lot of my weight on the center console, and my head is resting on my propped up left arm—you get the picture.

i hardly ever take my eyes off you. when and if you’re talking, i’m looking at you. maybe i’m talking and i get really animated and lost in my monologue; you continue driving and quietly think to yourself that you’re very happy you’re the one driving bc my clearly volatile ((passionate!!!)) exclamations would not be conducive to transporting us to wherever it is we find ourselves needing to be. 

maybe we’re listening to music and you turn it way up and i do that thing where i hover between singing and lip syncing and i dance with my fingers and my head bops from side to side… always a little off beat and always a bit off key. hopefully you start singing and dancing, too OR you look over at me endearingly and remark, yet again, that i’m a totally tone-deaf, rhythm challenged dork and a half. it amazes us that i use to dance—and that i dance(d) well, too. we laugh.

i will sometimes lean my head on your shoulder as you drive and listen to your musings.

((i love how people lose themselves when they drive. they’re focused on driving, navigating, checking blind spots, and then all the sudden, they’re talking, too: sometimes about nothing—which is my favorite—and sometimes about something—which is my second favorite. it’s as if the open road inspires an open mind. i find myself carefully considering every little thing spouting out of your mouth. everything is more amusing, mortal, fleeting, beautiful, precious.))

the beauty is in the tragedy: all car rides end. you leave your little box and venture into the world—a cruel, cold world. you put on your big girl pants and leave those moments in the car. because of my affection for this, the comfort and security i feel in the car is always met with the brash, swift reality of the world outside a car. inside, i’m delicate, easily amused, constantly daydreaming and romanticizing, literally taking in every breath to the fullest, and holding on for dear life. imagine what my soul feels when the car stops and i have to turn the music off and step out into the “real” world. it is utterly tragic. and beautiful. such stuff as dreams are made on

it’s easy to get back in though.

it’s like returning home to a mythical, magical place that only you fully understand and appreciate. 

it’s a place that’s always in motion—literally. it changes all the time, but it stays the same. 

it’s hard for me to fathom into coherent words what exactly i’m trying to express so forgive me. 

i will add that it would be super fantastic if i looked to my left and saw james franco driving us someplace. sign me up for that, please.

*in college i wrote an extensive research paper about behavioral manifestations inspired by fears and paranoia. i go to great lengths and sometimes subject myself to less than comfortable physical situations because i am embarrassingly petrified by spiders and other creepy crawlers. this is why i never place my feet flat on the floor regardless of where i am: home, restaurant, school, work, the movies, etc, etc. it even bothers me to have my left foot on the floor of my car while driving. i will usually—albeit awkwardly—situate it on top of this ridge along the door or just have it up on the seat which makes me feel like a pirate. should there ever be a bug graze pass my foot or across my legs, i shall say a quick prayer and prepare myself for an inevitable car crash. you have no idea how many times i have had to pull over, stop the car, get out, and appease and beg bugs to vacate my vehicle. on a number of particularly absurd occasions where my pleading proved futile, i would cry helplessly, and remorsefully call someone for emotional support. 

yes, i am being completely serious.