I don’t know what I’m doing.

It’s a Monday afternoon, I’m at a Starbucks Coffee shop with one of my oldest friends, Farrah. I’m cross-legged on the pseudo-rustic wooden chair talking about literature, linguistics and words and find myself nearly tearing up. My eyes are wide and I feel my hands move ecstatically in a way they can only do when I talk about something I’m this passionate about. Farrah’s a … Continue reading I don’t know what I’m doing.