#47.

in all reality, i should be poring over my anatomy textbooks and tearing through packets of blue post-it notes ferociously. i really am trying to pushing those bone details and muscle names countless times through my hippocampus, vainly, hoping to establish some sort of 24 hr imprint in my memory.

but really, all i am thinking about is a boy.

boys, boys, boys. so relentless in devouring all of my thoughts; creeping up in the most private of thoughts, and always present in my subconscious.

fuckboysineedtostudy.

but all i can think about is: "why don't you like me?"