People

I want to write about people. Which is funny. And weird. And sort of senseless, maybe, but that’s what I want to do. I want to always write about people. I want to write about the way they fall in love, the way their eyes can be read, the way they fall and then get up and then fall again, just to get right back up—and it’s so wonderful. So incredibly wonderful and amazing, that they take their own species for granted—and they cant see how great they can be.

I believe in humanity. I believe in our art and our science and the way we sing and cry and believe and create and destroy—and live. We are marvelous. With everything that we are, we were born to be elaborate, and colored slightly outside of the lines. We’re not really the ground or the sky, but we are everything in between.

Just give us chance.

Stop making us feel like our reality can be so small that it can be bottled up.

Lets stop making us feel like our reality can be so small that it can be bottled up.

Why I Picked English Literature as a Major

To be completely and utterly frank, I do not have a logical reason as to why I picked English Literature as my major—I really don’t. But I do have a list of matters that made me feel like I should probably major in English Literature and their senseless, probably—and weird. But yes. Here it goes.

I picked English Literature as my major, because words are so beautiful, and undermined, and powerful—and when they come together, they create something so incredibly beyond this entire universe. And I’m one of the naïve little kids who cant seem to let go of the little big things, so I chose English Literature as a major.

I also secretly want to be an author, I want to be fearless like them. I want to allow the universe to dwell inside of my core, and read me. See me as I am. I want to be able to share not a piece of me—but me as a whole. Because, see, the thing about authors is that their immortal. They’re there, even after their dead, still alive in between black and white text—and I so desperately want to be so brave, like them. Quietly.  I want to be able to touch others, without touching them; I want to influence change; I want to run inside of their minds—and God, I sound like a psychopath, but that doesn’t matter, because they all were!

Maybe they weren’t proud, and maybe they didn’t know it, but their the roots that ground our trees, and we’re only standing because of them—and I want to be a part of that army.

See I’m eighteen, and maybe ill regret it when I’m 28, but for now, all I know is that Science and Math and Business and Media and politics, all of these are the basis of our survival, but the poetry and the novels and the plays—they give us reason to need to survive; they’re the humanity’s gigantic driving force; because goddammit, as sinful as this may sound, there is no party without music; no memorable movie without a beautiful plot; no excellent politician without a quote or two advocating world peace. This may sound like it may not have anything to do with literature, but without poetry, there would have been no music; without plays, there would have been no movies; and without figurative language and wordplay, there would have been no politician.

These are really horrible examples, but hell, they made the world go round.