simply put, i write.
not-so-simply-put, i want to write it all, every moment, down to the way i press down upon these smooth letters of this very keyboard in this cadence of clicks. i itch to move the world with the nib of my pen.
salt lake is my little city.
i speak jibberish with my friends in cafes.
i keep daily tabs on flights to London when my gas tank is usually running on empty.
i long to know some understated, mapless coastal pocket on the edge of a continent.
i constantly ask myself what hepburn would do.
i believe in whimsical.
i can count the number of freckles i have on all my fingers.
this no longer bothers me.
i search for obscure foods in farmer markets.
and this little piece of the internet is my secret life of daydreams.