A random department manager at work told me I looked beautiful. He’s like 35 and married, has nothing to do with my department and has no reason to talk to me at all. Not only did he make my day, but I actually felt decently good for a while after all the shittyness I’ve been going through lately. He actually sounded genuine.
I love how every single time I roll over after waking up too early in the morning, you’re always looking at me with those sleepy eyes and that cheeky smile almost as if you knew I’d wake myself up way too early yet again, and you’re waiting to laugh at me for whinging about being awake.
I love Mondays. Had such a nice sleep-in, chilled for ages in my blackberry and redcurrent bubble bath then cooked some rice for lunch. Life is just so much more enjoyable when the sun is shining, you’re wearing shorts and The Wombats sound so great.
I love bread.
I want to spend a day in the city, without the purpose of uni. I want to casually walk along Swanston Street and window shop on Burke Street. I want to eat cupcakes and macaroons and frozen yogurt with fruit and granola, and eat other yummy things. I want to sit amongst the hustle and bustle and watch people while soaking in the sunshine. That’d be nice.
