I am a young 21 years old. You can elebrate with me every New Years Eve, okay?
I've spent my past three years earning a degree so I can have a clasroom of my own someday. Teaching is my passion and my calling.
I am engaged to my best friend and the one my soul loves. I can't wait to be his wife, to start a family together, to venture through life side by side, and to wake up next to him every day and be able to say first thing, "good morning my handsome husband!" He simply makes me the happiest.
We are getting married this October 19th, 2013. We are kind of excited.
Above all other things I want you to know about me- I want you to know how much Christ has blessed my life. The best family, the best friends, the best church family. The best of the best.
I wake up every day knowing that I serve a God who adores me even though I'm unworthy. That's enough to plant a smile on my face, store a forever-kind-of JOY in my heart, and re-assure me on my doubtful days that He holds my future in His hands and that's a wonderful, assuring, and beautiful thing.
I know who is at the center of my life. He is good and He deserves all of the credit.
Other than that, I'm pretty simple- I love me a good bargain. Anything cute or pretty. Smiles. Sour candy. Pastel colors. Pinteresting. Love notes. Movie dates. Vintage. Crafting. Encouraging others.
You were last seen walking through a field of pianos. No. A museum of mouths. In the kitchen of a bustling restaurant, cracking eggs and releasing doves. No. Eating glow worms and waltzing past my bedroom. Last seen riding the subway, literally, straddling its metal back, clutching electrical cables as reins. You were wearing a dress made out of envelopes and stamps, this was how you travelled. I was the mannequin in the storefront window you could have sworn moved. The library card in the book you were reading until that dog trotted up and licked your face. The cookie with two fortunes. The one jamming herself through the paper shredder, afraid to talk to you. The beggar. Hat outstretched bumming for more minutes. The phone number on the bathroom stall with no agenda other than a good time. The good time is a picnic on water, or a movie theatre that only plays your childhood home videos and no one hushes when you talk through them. When you play my videos I throw milk duds at the screen during the scenes I watch myself letting you go — lost to the other side of an elevator — your face switching to someone else’s with the swish of a geisha’s fan. My father could have been a travelling salesman. I could have been born on any doorstep. There are 2,469,501 cities in this world, and a lot of doorsteps. Meet me on the boardwalk. I’ll be sure to wear my eyes. Do not forget your face. I could never.