Concept: You Had Just Graduated The Year Before And You Bring Your Girlfriend To One Of Your High Schools

Classic bickering Dan and Phil

I shouldn’t be scared of dying at a desk with a bullet in my brain

concept: we’re in a small house in new england and because the house is really old we end up snuggling. it’s snowing outside and there’s a power outage so we put out a lot of candles. we fall asleep in a blanket fort we made on our living room floor and wake up to cold air and bright sun.

I genuinely like my dark circles? Makes me feel like a true academic, we love the whole slightly disheveled and unhinged academic vibe in this house 👏🏻

concept: we go on a road trip in my car and we find a park and decide to sleep there because it’s getting late. we wake up and the windows are opened with harsh warm light and cold morning air coming through. i’m awake because the sun woke me but you’re still cuddled into your pillow with the light hitting your face. i wish that my brain could know this moment like a camera knows a photograph but you wake up and mock me for staring. that’s okay though because i love you.

i never planned to make it this far.

imagine just existing with a girl no not existing because i don’t want to just exist i want to live i want to be living i want to have a life and be happy and be with a girl because she is perfect and we can go on daily adventures with each other in a small town and we can go to bagel stores every sunday morning and pick up flowers for our tiny apartment before the train ride back home idk i just want this i want happy this is happy

i want to write the kind of short stories you read in english class that are on this weird level of surrealism that they still haunt you years down the road

oh to be a round little bird and to say beep from time to time

Generation Z

Generation Z was born with the tragedy of 9/11 shadowing our birth certificates. A warning signal of what’s to come in the rest of our lives.

Because we grew up going to class with four— yes, four— of our classmates raising their hands and having scars on their arms being exposed. No one says anything because it’s too common for the guidance counselor to deal with, so everyone adverts their eyes instead.

We have, time and time again, gone to class only to hide under our desks for four hours not being sure whether the alarm blaring in or ears is a drill or not. Texting your parents worried because nobody knows what’s going on, and all you can do is hope that this is one of the dozens of drills you have each month and not one of the hundreds of school shootings every year.

We’re afraid to go to concerts and movie theaters and malls, and the general fucking outside world with our friends or family because of the terrorism displayed on the news. We’re scared of ending up dead every time we leave our house because the chances of it happening are more likely than it not.

We grew up in a mental health crisis and a new age of terrorism and violence. We don’t have memories of being happy, because as soon as we became self aware we knew what was going on around us.

And every time we say something to make things better for the next generation after us; every time we cry or slit our wrists just like we know to do oh so well; every time we try to do anything in the our lives we’re told that we’re too young to understand. That we have nothing to fear.

And when we’re dead, what do we have to fear then?

When we’re dead, will we finally be heard?