introduction




she was made of broadway lyrics, movie marathons, and old book hoards—a whirlwind of inky fingers and summer freckles. 

love: 
-exploring different cultures
-musicals
-intelligent conversations
-taking snapshots of ordinary things
-creating stories from my imagination
-deep souls
-the story of icarus
-art museums
-van gogh gang
-greek myths
-filmmaking
-poems
-notebooks

loath:
-pessimists and close-minded people
-the in-between of winter and spring
-labels
-cloudy night when you can’t see the stars
-hotel showers

infp | libra | ambivert | hipsta bookworm | canadian | poet


these are my labels. these are what i try to disprove. these are what i am, and what i can’t stand to be. these make me stuck, make me shake a fist and say, “don’t put me in a box, i’m different.” 
i’m autumn.

☾☾☾

if you were a doctor you could take a glance and determine facts about me. things like:
brown hair
mostly has her mother’s genes, but you can see her father’s eyes
average height and weight
finger tapping—probably a nervous habit
looks healthy enough to me

if you were a person on the street, just busy people-watching, you could look at me and think:
she’s smiling a lot
seems to be people-watching like me
too shy to talk though
and she keeps moving her feet—probably a nervous habit

if you were a classmate you could pay extra close attention and try to judge my character by things like:
she’s always raising her hand with answers
some of the things she says don’t make sense, but she’s open minded
she listens well 
kind of a teacher’s pet
but she’s willing to help if i’m behind in a subject

but if you were my friend, paying extra close attention, i wonder what you would think. what would be going through your mind as you thought about me? which of my traits stands out to you most? what parts of me don’t you like and which ones do you admire? what do i mean to you?

i am not a doctor’s analysis or a stranger’s ideas.
maybe i’m not even what you think i am.
but i’m me; thousands of layers of ramblings and strong opinions and nervous habits—each one hiding something waiting to be discovered.
i’m not a private person, and i trust easily. i will tell you my life story if i thought you were interested.
but i can be guarded, and i have thoughts no one has ever heard.
but even those are just waiting for that right person to come along and ask
things like:
what are you afraid of?
what are you convicted of?
what would make you hurt someone else?
what gives you that filled-up, happy feeling in your heart?
where do you want to go?
what are your pet peeves, your little quirks and habits?
and especially,
why do you love me?

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