End of March

I know I say this every time I go home and have to speak French for a long time, but it still feels weird. I am constantly surprised at how much my mother tongue feels foreign in my mouth and to my ears. 

went through a 14hrs bus ride from Gaspé to Montréal. Waiting three hours for my train to arrive so it can take me to Ottawa…this is the less fun part of travelling.
Also: I hate buses, but trains are awesome.

Also: a guy asked me if I had a dollar for him. He called me princess (“Hey princess, you wouldn’t have a dollar for me, would you?”). I said no, even though I probably have $10 in change in my bag. Don’t call me princess asshole. Ugh.

You know, there isn’t much comfort in knowing that the bed sheets have been cleaned and smell like sunshine and soap, if I cannot hold your hand and kiss your shoulder while we lay between them. Dirty sheets at least have the advantage of smelling of you.

Oh God, why are children so fucking noisy? I just can’t.
Glad I will never have any.  

God, you’re lovely. You’re so so lovely.
And brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant.

crab meat & garlic buttered-fingers ; the waves crashing, crashing crashing ; breaking every resolves ; the moon is too bright ; words are meaningless ; I don’t know anything ; I will always love him ; I forgot how to spell her name ; lighthouses are the perfect houses ; the sea is unforgiving ; seagulls never give a fuck about anything ; reading is better than almost anything except maybe living ; drifting is a state I like to be in ; keep notes tucked in my shoes ; I always drink too much wine ; I don’t like my name.