Thursday, November 26, 2009

Lily Maritoski

Her world was one of devious men, liars and theives, who danced with her on fire escapes, led her through dark allys, and made her breakfast when her head pounded too fiercly to untangle herself from the white sheets.

Her world was one of breathtaking moments, artificial dreams, and orange juice at one in the morning. She didn't think she owned an article of clothing that wasn't ripped, from nails clawing at her back, from falling, from dancing too crazily, from fighting, from loving.

Her world was one of love and hate, of yin and yang, of opposites. She was inspired, one time, after reading about Benjamin Franklin, to analyze her life in the form of the scientific theory. She found that she spent far too more time in the hypothesis state than she did in analysis.

Her world was one of snuggling, of burrying, of digging, of building a home and hiding in it. Of sewing a curtain and standing behind it. She loved to conceal, she loved to pretend, she loved to dress up and run around her street because of the thrill she got when her neighbors inquired if she had known that maniac who had been out there. The satisfaction when she answered, "No, I have no idea who that freak was" was far greater than anything else she'd ever known.

Her world was one of radical parties, of late nights spent in a hazy fog of uncertainty, of early mornings spent walking against the brisk wind to get home. She laughed too loud and cried too often, she whispered annoying quotes in strangers ears, she took great pride in her ability to sing irish folk.

Photos: Tumblr, click for origin

Writing: My own (Please source if you quote it or anything)