Look for me in the land of daydreams… where everyone is a hopeful romantic…For that place I call my home, but it might just be my grave.I stir stories into soups, scribble poems in the margins of research papers,and fall in love with songs that sound like storms (especially if Hozier’s involved).A student by day, a wandering thought by night—I read like it’s a ritual, write like it’s rebellion,and believe that even burnt toast has a story worth telling.If you send letters like spells, I’m already enchanted.