sweet coke

My hands smell like Waikiki beaches and coconuts, sitting here in this McDonald’s. My ride back to school is still an hour and a half away, but that gives me plenty of time to chat with an Italian princess I really don’t know that well.

Okay, so I’m totally romanticizing this day. It’s crazy cloudy outside, this fast-food joint is kinda chilly, and I’m slightly apprehensive about the six-hour car drive ahead.

Nomad probably isn’t the correct term for how I feel, with my earthly belongings piled on the booth next to me. She’s reading glossy fashion magazines and I’m learning about her life. I like this, hearing about people and why they are who are today.

We were all such different people in high school, before we met in the cornfields of Ohio. Even those in my little family probably would not have been my friends four years ago, as I was a brat and they certainly pursued different interests.

In high school, God gave me stubborn friends who were with me through ups and downs and becoming a more solid person. In Ohio, He planned out a group who desires the same sort of goals, who will laugh and cry with me as we grow up to be real adults in these next three years.

I don’t have favorites; I never have. Each person I hold in my heart is there for a specific reason, and I cannot imagine existing without them and the influence they have had on me.

Romantic is a word I use often, even if it doesn’t always describe my life. Bubbly and loud and unexpected are more accurate for this life of mine.

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