I'm a romantic. Not in the sense that I fall head over heels for people and spend my evenings on ferris wheels, because I don't. I fall head over heels up staircases and spend my evenings eating too much and watching crappy tellie on my laptop, because we don't actually own a television. I mean I'm a romantic in the sense that I see beauty in things and that makes me happy.

I like sunsets, because I'm an original.
I like top shelf tequila and tall guys and girls with pretty eyes. I
 like when I spend time in the sun and my freckles become pronounced, because it reminds me of home.
I like the way grey track pants make my bum look.
I like people with discreet tattoos and girls that don't give a fuck and falling off dirt bikes.
I like reading dirty books and walking around my house in pretty underwear and people watching out of my ground floor apartment window.
I like smiling at strangers and listening to people talk about their family.

I think being a romantic and romanticizing things in your head makes for a very sad life. Beautiful, but sad. I'm not sure yet if its a good trade off.

I'm just a nineteen year old Australian girl from the sunny Gold Coast trying to survive college in America. I thought college would be a lot different. More parties (that I would actually attend), and I guess I thought I'd be a lot more diligent with my studies than I was at high school, but that hasn't worked out. So, I'm starting a blog. As an English major, I figured that counts for something.