Peyton Sawyer:

Dear Molly, this is gonna sound a little strange, but I'd like you to paint over my old closet door. The thing is, there is never a time when you'll be more honest, when your convictions will be stronger or your motives will be more pure than they are right now. Which means you should chase whatever it is that excites you. Be confident and take risks. And paint over my words so you can start writing your own. My story might have inspired you, but I'm certain your story will inspire the next girl to live in our room. I want you to know you don't need somebody to write about yoi in order for your life to mean something. You can write about yourself. Make your own destiny. Then, years from now, the next girl will keep what you write on that door long enough to remind you of how inspired your life is. And you can tell that girl to paint over the door, because you realize the words you wrote, the friends you had, the urgency you felt will always be there underneath the paint. The love you professed will always be there, the spark of something undeniable, a seed of hope, the truth, for better or for worse, burning fiercely, just below the surface. Love, Peyton.

I am so exhausted from just sitting down and doing nothing.
Been researching internships for like 2 hours.
Been researching for like six months.
I just want a job already.

I love them.

Penumbra

I

And the scratches tint your palms
The blisters scrape your knuckles
Covered in the agony
of the labor
Your internals are tainted with gold
But you shine of bronze
To the world, the metals conflate
And you slightly glisten with a shade of brass
They say: "You're doomed to be a mere shadow"
"Of what?" you ask them
Of the sun.

II

You are a palimpsest
Unable to decide, rewritten over and over again
Broken and renewed
Holding onto the belief that
--you're the penny
That in time, heated by the warmth above
You will turn from bronze to silver
To gold

III

And the dulcet taste of hope shrivels
away until the sun bows down
furtively and slowly
until you can no longer see
from the hole
decorated with the headstone that's
engraved with the shadow of
your initials.

IV

Silver or Lead
Bribes or death,
But you know that treachery may pull you back into the cave
So you choose death,
because your knuckles had already been
dripping with the blood of disbelief since
the departure of the womb.

The dream

My dream would be to open up my own music production company.
The home location would probably be located somewhere near Soho, in New York City.
The venue would be indescribably huge. Labeled in huge red letters:
TheRedSkyProductions. 
I'd have such a big company and so many people working for me.
I'd have a lot of free time and in that free time,
I'd spend it in a private studio;
Recording.
As if music was my own language.