Tomorrow is my last day of high school
He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-colored disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher — shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.
“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such — such beautiful shirts before.”
my life is a constant cycle of waiting until the weekend and then not doing anything when it comes
it was the summer of 7th grade going to 8th
a nigga was stressed and depressed
walking home like
“how the fuck did i manage to do this to myself”
on the brink of tears everyday scared to tell my mom
luckily they had this program
“read away your fees” or some shit like that
every half an hour you sat in the library and read it took 2 dollars off
my mother aint see me for about a month and a half.
texting is great because it’s so convenient and quick but wow after that phone call it’s like i’m realizing all over again how much it means to hear a person that you love’s voice. it’s hard when you can’t touch or see someone but i think we underestimate how much it means to hear someone that means the world to you say your name.
that’s rhode island
some people still need reminding i see