Mara.
Fifteen-year-old girl.
Sapiosexual, but for the most part I'm pretty asexual.
Depression and all that shit that goes with it.
Haunted and lonely like all the rest.
I've got more in common with Sherlock mentally than is good for me.
I believe we're all searching for ourselves- I wander in libraries, searching for myself in books, trying to find pieces of my soul hidden in their words.
Classmate: Why do we have to annotate our books? Annotating is stupid.
Classmate: The book is too complicated.
Classmate: The story is, like, pointless, like, what the heck?
Classmate: Metaphors are useless. Why do we bother looking at them?
Classmate: Charles Dickens sucks.
Me (thinking): SHUT UP YOU PEOPLE WHO CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND THE LITERARY GENIUS OF CHARLES DICKENS. MAYBE IF YOU SPENT LESS TIME COMPLAINING ABOUT IT AND MORE TIME READING IT YOU MIGHT APPRECIATE IT MORE. JUST BECAUSE CHARLES DICKENS DIDN'T INCLUDE VAMPIRES OR SEX SCENES IN A TALE OF TWO CITIES DOESN'T MAKE IT A BAD BOOK. GRRRRRR.