Death by chocolate is a myth, this I know because I lived

Sia is speaking intensely to me tonight (the album Some People Have Real Problems was a huge obsession last year). It's a nice reminder to pick up an album, listen to it playing, and lie around, letting the thoughts and memories flash back and forth between the past and the present.

This week certainly was made of many highs and many lows. The lows were hitting hard within my gut, and I would hate to dwell on them further. But the highs are certainly taking me towards an even brighter future.... I have a job at Coffee Bean now (have not yet started, but it's happening), the quarter is almost over (sad/happy), I have a huge opportunity that may be happening next quarter (I don't want to indulge too much- those who know know what I'm talking about. I just don't want to jinx it)... And, as always, my darling darling friends were around to raise my spirits.

Maybe that's something about the holidays- the little instances of cheer that are thrown in at unexpected moments. Today's events were certainly filled with that- started off the morning horrendously, but then as the day progressed there was laughter and presents and excitement... mmm.
Another example: my darling Elif posted a menu inspired by me (she is an incredible little cook, that lovely girl). The last item (which I am so insanely intrigued by/am becoming obsessed with)... White Chocolate Creme Brulee. I will not die by this at all :)
Thanks<3

Now, finals week has begun, meaning I should not be on this thing... pretty much at all. But, regardless, there is something to post in a way. For my poetry class we had to work on a piece... I never knew my status within the class, as in I could never tell how I was doing academically or creatively. I simply tried my best and fit my professor's mold as best I could. We had to do these 5-sentence write-ups every week based on books we decided to read (I am, in fact, going to finish these books during the break), and eventually they turned into a single piece... Which is what I am going to post below, because as I look at it, I am particularly proud of a moment within there. This piece has shown me my ability to adapt within a certain style while trying to stay true to myself as a poet, if you will.
Perhaps I will edit it further. Perhaps I will let it stand as an assignment-to never be touched again. But it is below, in this form, for a reason for now, and that is where it will stay.

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Penn Station

Evi descends into Penn Station as she does every weekday at eight in the morning. The air tastes bitter. She is claustrophobic in August sweat.

There is an old Hungarian reading the paper—a girl in knock-off Prada humming. Evi wants to be above it, spinning through spotless glass, sitting in a leather chair in a large room of windows overlooking maple trees.

She finds a green bench and thinks of Portland. It smells of mildew. Through the pigeons pass a pair of red shoes which she covets. She dreams of mahogany and lilies.

Evi taps her foot against the concrete. The clink from her wooden soles vibrates up her leg, sending a second pulse as she folds into herself.

She had always been quicksilver and driven, he knew that. The dandelion seeds always floated to the east, she explained to him. Him in his navy blazer with his green eyes.

He predicted they could never go too far- only to the next layer of mud and maple leaves. She knew they escaped into the night, falling into potted plants, street cracks, gated trees.
She needed to float with them- he decided to settle.

The train arrives. He said to never ride the subway. She drifts within the crowd, falling further into the crevice of the city.

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and there you have it.