I think I might be a hipster. I'm getting too close to that stereotype, sans PBR and republic bike. I can't even afford to be a hipster, being a hipster requires some level of monetary support, because it takes money to look like an artsy homeless person. I'm just a broke ass art student. Most of my clothing has paint on it. I perpetually have paint in my hair, or between my fingers, or on the back of my elbow where I don't notice it. Everything I own is covered in a fine layer of clay dust, paint, graphite, ink, and eraser nubs. I can't help it.
Talking about myself in third person forced me to be introspective, thanks Evergreen. I'm bored. I'm genuinely fucking bored, and not even because I am a boring person (which I definitely can be, because nothing sounds better than Sudoku, coloured pencils and comic book art, and a ton of coffee in bed all day). I don't even own a bed. I sleep on a beat up old futon that has seen so much interrupted sleep it's not even funny. Well, maybe it is a little funny, but only because it completes my long standing dream of sleeping on the floor.
I'm scared too. I'm afraid of losing all that I have worked for, but then, it wouldn't really matter if that happened anyway, I could just figure out a way to work for it all over again, or work for something else.
Chloe is worried about time, she feels like she never has enough time, it goes much too fast. Chloe is terrified of what might happen. Chloe is afraid of her own potential. She fears that if she goes out and does something she'll have to recognise as remarkable, she'll be proving herself wrong. Chloe worries about things that she has no control of, and she should simply let them go.
Chloe needs someone to talk to about things, everything.
Chloe misses being in love. She falls too easily, she's been hurt too many times, but she keeps falling anyway. She's in love with love, even when it hurts. But hell, at least she has plenty of material to base melancholy stories off of, and happy sappy ones too- God forbid, I prefer to avoid such fluff.
Chloe hates it when people use apostrophes wrong. Also when they use ellipses wrong. These insignificant details drive her mad. It is not a proper ellipsis with only two periods.
Chloe is awkward and shy. She is introverted out of habit. Chloe is not insincere or cruel, she is simply afraid. Her lack of eye contact is not something to signal bad character, just nervousness.
Chloe is listening to rain on a tin roof.
I want to go to the ocean. I want to go swimming. Like when I went to Ocean Shores and I went swimming in my last dry jeans (I went swimming in the other pair the day before).
I want to stand in the waves.
I want the cold water to crash against my warm skin,
create the sensation of thousands of small antagonising needles.
To be washed of the weight of the world
and the dull numbness of monotony
by the feeling of being cold and alive.