peppermint tea is my safe space
Tag: mine
While I’ve already handwritten 20 pages of this story, I thought it was important to share that yes, you can do it. Also, you don’t have to worry about editing. Those funny dots on the side? Comments. Add them right through when you can’t remember a word or you need to check a fact, if there’s a question raised or information to establish. Extremely helpful, and allows you to move on and come back to it.
ass-orted poems i found funny in the shower
yeet yeet
gonna beat mah meat
xx
yeet yeet
I lick feet
xx
yeet yeet
I’m an immense disappointment my parents dont love me my future is spiralling further out of control my depression is chronic my interests ironic i will eventually face my final defeat
xx
yeet yeet
pussy is sweet
Prompt #35
Staring at your coffee is not going to make it magically give you the answer.
But you can’t help but wonder just how you’re gonna get the barista’s number. Should you go up and buy another coffee? Spill your coffee on yourself and ask him for napkins? Find out his name and stalk his facebook?
Your history homework isn’t giving you any answers either. You lean your head on the table, wishing you’d thought to drink water. Caffeine and dehydration don’t pair well together.
You watch him serve another three customers, glaring daggers at the perky brunette that tries to chat him up. How does she do it so easily? How can she just…talk to someone like that.
You wonder if you could ever do that. If you came back tomorrow in your skinny jeans and cute jade cardigan, hair a floating halo around your face, would you be able to talk to him? Do more than stutter a, “ch-ch-chocolate frappuccino puh-please” ? Not hand him the wrong change because you got distracted by just how damn soft his hair looks.
Probably not.
With all your daydreaming, you didn’t see him leave. You figure you should stop stalling on getting home, start packing up your stuff. As you close your textbook with a heavy thud, loose paper flutters out. You hope its some old notes, not the pages of the book. Mr Armondson would kill you.
You swipe it from the floor. And promptly drop it again.
Rushing to pack, you hurry out the door. You look over your shoulder at the cute barista as you leave.
Written on the paper;
“Please don’t get a restraining order on me
555- 6018″