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breathe. we're alive despite it all.

27 June 1987

My name is Bex and I like it when my puppy jumps onto my lap. I have too many nicknames and half-started journals. I like being alone but I often feel lonely. I drink too much tea, smoke too many cigarettes, eat too many sweets. I like baking, birds, simplicity, Parisian accents, and writing down a few sweet words wherever I go. I write too many letters, but rarely send them. Strangers are my favourite, but I enjoy talking to anyone I meet. I'm private, quiet, and keep to myself unless I'm around someone that makes me nervous or giddy-- they make me chatter like those wind-up teeth. I'm ticklish and don't like to hold hands. I hoard notes I find in public places, owl figurines, & various lost buttons. I don't believe in logic or numbers; I prefer flowers, damask, Andy Warhol, and silences that aren't awkward. I feel with my soul and think with my heart. I wonder silly things that keep me up at night: why does my cat hate me? Do inanimate objects feel emotions or hear things? What do those desiccant packets taste like? I like spring-time, evening walks, fantasy lands. I rarely feel comfortable around people that aren't cancers, tauries, scorpios, or pisces. If you see a girl wandering around confused, with wavy, messy hair, funny shoes, and too many layers, it's probably me.