Written journal entry of a girl obsessed with the world she curated

“I’m just obsessed with it all—everything I’ve curated. I’m obsessed with eating fruit in my bed while the open windows let in a breeze. I’m obsessed with doing my hair on the floor at 9 in the evening, preparing to enjoy a jazz performance at the club. I’m obsessed with my daydreams that turn into reality at the touch of my will. I’m obsessed with the beauty that surrounds me when I step outside my door.

I’m obsessed with my poetic habits, the little rituals that no one understands but me, and with how every single minor detail of my being comes together to create a whole. I’m obsessed with my authenticity, and I’m deeply grateful for it. I’m obsessed with how honest I am about my desires. I’m obsessed with just how obsessed he is with me. I’m obsessed with how real my emotions are. I’m obsessed with the balance of confidence and vulnerability I have. I’m obsessed with the sound of my own thoughts. I’m obsessed with how I’m able to move through the world without apology, to take up space, to be noticed.

I’m obsessed, but obsession brings tiredness. Though, in this moment, there’s nothing else. Just this. Just the obsession.”