One of the most noteworthy perks of falling for a bookworm would have to be the conditional libraries. Think about it. A true bookworm would not live without a library of some variety. Be it a few shelves beneath their bedside table, or an expansive room with bookshelves that stretch from your toes to the ceiling. No kindles, kobos, or iPads storing electronic copies of their literary loves, but whole walls filled with stories waiting to be read. That’s how it should be.
OCD + bookworm = meant to be.
This is a spot where I would invite three wealthy architects over and have them debate the significance of the bookshelf a whole foot above the others.
This is a spot where I would sing to my plants and expect them to sing back. And then take out my frustration on the looming canvas in front of me when they don’t.
This. This is a spot where I would play the blues on my harmonica and annoy all my neighbours.
This. This is a spot where my math essay would just write itself.
This. This is a spot where I would feel as though the world was able to be controlled with my mind. John Nash would probably join me and we would draw things on the window together (he wouldn’t be doing all the work, I swear).
I feel as though I should share with you all my newest taste of sophistication in my life. By day he’s a business man, but by night, he transforms into a biker with a need for speed. I fell for him immediately. Oh, his name? Such a fool you are, it’s a coat. I personify all my clothing obviously.
How glad am I not to be wearing my puffy parka built for Antarctica and cannot be worn with brown pants otherwise I am the human tree? SO GLAD. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
Have a vunderbar Sunday evening (so cultured, I know).