"We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement." Written by Marina Keegan, who graduated from Yale University a week ago and was set to be an editorial assistant at The New Yorker on June 11th. She died in a car crash this past weekend. We lost a good one.  (via aprilmayparker)

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moldavia:

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Wendy’s SONNNNN

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