There’s something indescribably gorgeous about how fleeting life is. When I die, I want everyone I love to attend my funeral wearing the brightest and most colorful items in their closet. My cousin Audrey will be wearing her Pocahontas Indian princess outfit of Halloween 1995. My friend Cindy will run around in her furry bear suit and pirate hat. I want my send off to commemorate who I am by retaining every vivid ounce of energy that rushes through my body every time I laugh so hard I can’t breathe. I don’t want to be mourned; I want my end to be a celebration of the life I lived. Passion is what my life is about.

As a little girl, every night I was tucked into bed and read a story. Nurtured by a daily dose of literature, I was fascinated with the idea of beautiful princesses and magical creatures and longed for my own Prince Charming to take me away to “happily ever after.” I could not understand what made one book more compelling than another, but I knew that when I read it, I felt it. I didn’t bother myself with the complexities of why I felt the way I did, but now I realize words can be beautiful: from provoking emotions to evoking memories, passionate words can float right off the page, into one’s heart and soul. Words can open people’s eyes by changing their perspective of the world as they know it.

I learned about the idea of love from fairy tale romances. I’ve been a hopeless romantic ever since I can remember. When I read The Great Gatsby during the summer before Junior Year, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the beautiful imagery of F. Scott Fitzgerald. For the first time, I was swept away with not only the story of Daisy and Jay’s love, but by the words as well. From childhood up until I read that book, my mindset while reading was just to see what happened to the main character and all the other descriptions were just meaningless background. I