If someone had asked me in September what my life would look like by Christmas, I would have told them something responsible.
Something polished.
Something very Nessa James-coded.
I would’ve said I’d be buried under applications, mock trial prep, debate notes, and a color-coded schedule that would probably
make my guidance counselor cry tears of joy.
I would have said I’d be focused.
Disciplined.
Unshakable.
I would not have said:
sharing fries with Landon Baxter at midnight while he sat cross-legged on the floor of his loft, strumming his guitar and asking if heartbreak sounded better in A minor or C.
And yet.
That had somehow become my life.
And, embarrassingly enough…
I loved it.
It happened slowly at first.
So slowly I didn’t even realize it was happening.
One extra tex
