take my breath away

She liked quiet things.  The whisper of pages turning, the rustle of leaves, the tender broken sound of the fuzz of notebook paper being removed.  Those things made her stomach tickle and made her want to cry.  She could never understand why she felt this way, or what this feeling was.  One time, she asked a girl sitting next to her to listen.  The girl leaned in close, eyes wide, and watched as she ripped the frayed edges of the paper off.  It was an almost perfect rip too, along those perforated dots.  There was just one spot where it had actually torn into the paper, an indent of frayed fibers.  The girl smacked her gum, her waxed eyebrows raised, "You gonna tell me sum-thaan or wuh-at?"  She thought to herself, I just did. 

But that was the thing about thoughts...they weren't the words that came from her mouth.  Her thoughts were graceful, punctuated and grammatically correct.  But the line from there to her tongue was broken, the way her lips moved was never in line with the images in her head.  She wanted to scream, and scream loudly, and scream so the world could hear, and hear her speak beautifully, perfectly, precisely for once.  She didn't want to stammer, she didn't want the extra clacking of teeth to hold her down, or the fear of bending a lip the wrong way to stop her.  She wanted to climb out of that, reach up and grab the ledge of the cliff she was falling down and pull herself up. She wanted to lie down on the mossy ground and turn her head to the side and see that she was parallel to the horizon. 

But being parallel to the universe, she thought, would that make me just another line?  Somewhere in the caves of the cliff, somewhere in the river rushing below, somewhere in all of the cracks and crevices of rocks, voices chimed in and whispered, "If you are just another line, so is the horizon. So is the sunset. So is the earth itself."

building

"we can build a new tomorrow today"

i just find this so tender, endearing, and beautiful.

Wonder

I want to be face to face with something

commensurate to my capacity for wonder.

any suggestions?

tender is the night

To her, the most touching moment was when the waves licked the shoreline, when the shells tumbled out of the womb, thrown out into the wide wide world.  The earth teased, revealing only reminents of its mystery, giggling at the idea that humans could discover it all.  She wished she was a mermaid, so she could be in on the secret too.

She liked taking naps, making pancakes, and the boy who lived next door.  He was her favorite person in the world, and nobody could ever understand why.  He walked with  a swagger, he cursed and spoke in mumbled fragments, and he wanted to be like everybody else, a trait she despised.  But one day, she had gone to drop off something at his house, and she saw him, a shadow through the doorway of his younger brother's bedroom.  He pulled the comforter up to the boy's chin, he kissed his forhead, he whispered goodnight.  And when his brother yelled "wait!", he turned, and checked under the bed, in the closet, in every drawer and outside the window for monsters.

She had an odd fear of feeling safe.  When she was absorbed in fear, in stress, in worry, she was able to forget herself, able to forget her sadness, able to forget that she was more than her worldly accomplishments.  She shivered when she was alone, feeling the thoughts ring in the back of her head.  She could never trust the right people, and was constantly consumed by this wait for pain, this patience as she watched the guilitine come closer to her neck.  Dependancy was worse than death.

She always felt guilty when she broke hearts.  Not only for those she hurt, but for herself.  Everytime she got to know someone she would bring herself closer, closer to them.  Laughing and touching their shoulder with her forehead, smiling when nothing was funny, looking into their eyes and trying to find their souls.  She loved knowing people.  But she was always let down when she realized how little they knew about her.  Then she would become cold, and they would question.  She hated questions.  The relationship that had never begun was destroyed with her silent frustration, an emotional atomic bomb.  Everything deteriorated into dust.  Everything gone.

photos via marie claire italia editorial, march 2010

explore

The best conspiracy theory I've ever heard.

flying forward

I'm going to tell you a secret, and I want you to listen.  The trees say this secret in the way they sway, the flowers gossip it in the exchange of pollen, the sun shouts it out in light each morning and the moon sings it in a lullaby at night.  You are beautiful, you are wonderful, you are marvelous.  Look at yourself!  Love yourself!  Say it to yourself in the morning, remember it in the day. People will try to break your spirit, break your heart, break into your soul.  You know why? Because your soul is full of jewels, treasures that are gleaming with hope and possibility and wonder for this world.  And there are people who can't find them inside themselves, so they try to steal them from you.  But the only way they can is if you let them. The only way they will is if you say okay.  So don't break down sweetheart, don't let them.  You are better than them, you are better than their superficial hatred, than their dark words and cruel laughter.  You are a part of this big, magical universe, you are a part of the stars, a part of the trees, a part of the snow and a part of the mountains.  Breathe in love.  Breathe in trust.  Breathe in a belief.  A belief that you know your own worth, you know your own beauty.  Now, live like you do.

timeless

 

*that writing is not mine, i saved it from a tumblr a long time ago on my computer. i love it and it always inspires me.

gossamer goodnight

I have always loved the word gossamer.

I heard the origin of it was in films of cobwebs floating over waters,

drifting in the air.

Magic

via Luphia

 

PS Sorry for my lack of posts lately, I'm on a trip with my family and I don't have much time to blog! But I love you all, hope you're having a lovely beginning of spring (: