If this date doesn’t work out at the end of June, I am becoming a cat lady at 20. Because right now I am drinking wine, busting out my new oil paints, and jamming out to pop rock and there are no fucks to give.
12:02 am: He can cook.
12:20 am He just quoted the Lion King. I won’t need to become a crazy cat lady, he’s perfect.
1:15 am: Also, I’ve finished my bottle of wine, but this has nothing to do with my decision making abilities. Nor does the fact that it’s 1:15 am.
Not Noah from The Notebook. My Noah. My Noah that I have been developing since I was sixteen. The Noah that is a part of me, the part that challenges me to grow because he is somewhere where he doesn’t want to be, and he realizes it and needs that extra step to push him forward. And maybe he’s not my Noah at all, maybe he’s my Rossi. Maybe we’re both Rossi, bustling and full of life, digging away at the hatred and menial tasks of everyday life with our fascination with people and things and they way they interact and think. And our connection with each other and the earth is further engrained through stargazing and not speaking but instead just being and, oh my god, we should just be.