Don’t poke me, don’t call my name, don’t ask how the book is when I’m cearly still reading, don’t ask me the title, don’t push me, don’t throw things at me to get my attention, nothing. How hard is this to understand?
With all these books in my bed and the song Skinny Love on repeat makes me want to write a short story. But then I have to finish reading The Perks of being a Wallflower and I’m afraid that I will miss Charlie and his stories.
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”—The Perks of Being A Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky (via walkwalkpassionbaby)