Or maybe I'm just ridiculous, actually.

Today was somewhat awe filled for me.
Turns out the same people who travel from Barnes&Noble to Borders and leave secrets on note cards in black and green ink in Postsecret books picked up my Little Black Book.
And they loved it.
They wrote maybe 12 pages of themselves in there. It's a boy and a girl, and I'm assuming they go to Moorpark, and if not there a different college.
The boy said Orange Fanta makes him feel like dying.
The girl draws crying prehistoric animals.
They're together; he thinks she's pretty, she likes to hold him.
They were inspiring. She has balloon wishes, which are hard to explain. He's not afraid to admit that he's not completley straight like he used to be afraid of doing.
They both draw "artful graffiti" at their college, which is actually the greatest thing I've ever heard.
They're my personal, unknown, maybe teenage heroes.
You'd understand if you read their story. Or maybe not.
Maybe you'd only understand if you're one of those people that finds little, almost trivial things awe inspiring. Like singing because you love it, not because others like it. Or talking to plants to make them grow better.

Or leaving something for someone else to find and relate to, and know about you.
Because "maybe people are sad because they forget they're part of something beautiful. Like the world."