this medical intern refuses to let her life get sucked in by the hospital. scarlet fingernails clinging to the precipice of retaining some semblance of life pre-medicine. still foolishly hopeful, still finding time to hide in corners with tea and a conversation with marcel proust, still lusting after creamy leather bags and the highest of heels.
if my life was perfect, everyday would be a sunday morning, and nothing would be ordinary.
it's not perfect, but im still loving every minute of it.
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