This is a Babble

I could talk about my public journal - my word wall - my best friends - my love life, or lack there of, the state of my room, the state of my life. I could talk about how everything changed. How everything always changes so so quickly. I could talk about work, about going to New York, about sleeping in too late. I could talk about how I no longer have Photoshop, about how I no longer paint, about how I keep thinking I'll paint my nails and then I don't. I could talk about how many seasons of Grey's Anatomy I've watched this semester, about how hard my classes were, about how little sleep I got. I could talk about how I should be choreographing, how I always should be choreographing. I could talk about how many books I'm supposed to be reading. I could talk about losing a good friend or how scared I am of losing another. I could talk about trying to salvage that relationship, about how hard being honest is, about how sometimes I should say nothing at all instead of saying too much. I could talk about how I'm always sore, how I'm always tired, and I'm always just a little behind. I could talk about being broke, how much money I need for tuition, for books, for rent, for New York. I could talk about Sabrina, about all my wonderful housemates, about catching snowflakes on my tongue. I could talk about smile wrinkles, about the way my friend sleeps, about my favorite yawners. I could talk about improv dance, about playing volleyball, about my new running shoes, about cuddling. I could talk about photography, about theater class, about wishing I could punch things or people. I could talk about how I don't communicate well with words, about the random things I write in my phone, about the strangers I talk to. I could talk about being presumably crazy, about the one that got away, about the one that I always end up next to. I could talk about a lot of things.

but the only person I want to tell them to, is you.