I wish I can find that one guy I can just talk to everyday and just be cute together.
Wishing I was back here, standing on Central Park South (W 59th St) looking for ‘The Stranger with the Blue Umbrella’. It had rained that day - as it does in New York at the height of summer - and unbeknown to me, my flip flops were flicking Central Park mud up onto the back of my pale lemon skinny’s the whole way through that 2 hour walking tour. The guide (on her Wall Street interrupted lunch break), guiding me and many other umbrella wielding strangers must have thought I was hopeless… but then she’d be right because I was the only chop carrying my shopping. The hotel laundry bill cost waaaaaay more than the jeans themselves, but in a way that speckled Central Park souvenir is worth so much more to me. That and the memory of carefree in big and beautiful, New York City.
He smells good
I love that feeling you get when you don’t remember that you’re reading. When you’re so captured by a book that you forget you’re reading the words. All you see is the descriptions and conversations that being to play out like a movie in your head. You don’t even think about it. Then before you know it, you’ve read 100 pages without realizing it. That’s probably the best feeling in the world.
I’m getting really tired of people copying me