Sixteen years old, living out our halcyon days. The sun is still out at midnight and we’re rapping in the dark to songs that came out when we were six. Vodka might have dampened our edges and the people we’ve been thinking about may not love us like we love them but we’re young and funny and so inherently good, and its going to be okay because it has to be okay. Maybe this is happiness. Maybe we’re just confused.
— #200- excerpts from the book I’ll never write