read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

June 13, 2013
There are mornings when I'm walking home through Central Park and I think there's no place in the world I'd rather be, that I could walk home through this park every morning for the rest of forever, that I could rest every day underneath a huge tree I recently decided was "mine", and the rest of the world could go about doing whatever it's doing. Then there are other mornings when I think, what in the world am I still doing here? Wouldn't I be happier somewhere in the Midwest, where the bulk of my money doesn't go toward rent?