Spacious Thoughts

Boy, you have a rocket ship brain,

the kind that takes you up to the stars,

I'm afraid,

mine is only an airplane,

because I've always been a little scared of space

and how to walk on Mars

Pst. Hi. This was honestly a 12:34 A.M. spur of the moment, so pardon me as I don't have my blogger legs on quite yet. I was composing that little stuttering piece above as I laid in a too hot bath and I thought, "why not put it for you guys?" I do have some dreams and ideas for this blog though, so keep peeking in as, I hope, cogs will be turning.  Imperfection, little posts, outfits, honesty (real life honesty), sad pictures, quotes, and journal entries, are just a few. 

I hope you all are having a wonderful whatever time it is. For all who are reading this and still care about this old blog, I love you guys. You know who you are.

All life is just a progression toward, and then a recession from, one phrase--"I love you."

The Offshore Pirate, F. Scott Fitzgerald

When thoughts abound

It was 12:02 A.M. The window in front of me was foggy, and icy fingers of water dripped down the glass from the outside.  My hands were occupied with a wet sponge and a dirty dish, but my mind was elsewhere; busy composing a plot.  Voices both beautiful and ugly, danced around in my head.  Warm water flooded down the drain and soapy suds were cleansed off the dish.  I absently stacked the offending plate in the drying rack, and whilst my mind was still enwrapped in the story, a small part of it withdrew itself and analyzed which dish must be washed next, in order to make the drying smooth and efficient.  Yes, bowls next, small first, then the larger ones.  "What do you want?" The young girl in my head said wearily, her arms stooped in defeat.

I knew it was an ungodly hour to be doing the dishes, but I had made this unconscious routine for myself and I knew not how to break it. Rather, I didn't want to. Doing the dishes late at night provided a wonderful silence with space for thoughts. They echoed dreamily around the room, with no voices of my siblings to quiet them.  I delighted in it. The eerie time, where the next day truly begins, yet the sun still sleeps. I dried off the dishes and they shined down on me from the shelves. I imagined saying to them, "Up, up, now. Nice and orderly." And then watching them spring from the counter into neat stacks in a very Mary Poppins sort of way.

Not only did plots come cropping up in my head at this time, but ideas, what to post next on my blog. Why I blog.  That one thought has been reoccurring, and as I continued to shine those little plates faces, I thought some more on it.  The reason I blog came to me, very quickly and without struggle, like the way warm butter slips on a hot pan; I blog because, when I read blogs, I feel inspired, I feel like writing, or taking beautiful pictures, or walking by a moonlit pier.  So, in my own way I want to inspire people, if I can. I want to make them feel like leaping, or dreaming, or doing whatever they put their mind to.  I want be inspired, and inspire.

These are only the thoughts that fall out of ones brain when one is in ones place of peace.
Where is your place of peace? Of thoughts and ideas?

Postscript: My apologies for the delay and lack of pictures. I've been busy with that time consuming thing called life. I'll be back soon with plen'y more pictures. (and photoshoots ;)

Just love

I pushed through the train station, aimlessly; it must have appeared to the people around me, yet my eyes searched through the sea of faces.  Seeking.  In vain.  For the face that had haunted me for almost a year.

I glanced at my watch. 5:30 P.M. Five-thirty, everyday, every week, for the past year. For him. My mind went over the letter he sent me. Again. Every word of it I subconsciously memorized. Why wasn’t he here? The agony seared through my mind. Over and over. My eyes wandered the length of the train station. People rushed to and fro, their voices, creating the symphony of the city. Families embraced their loved ones coming back for the holidays. I felt cold watching them. There was no one to warm me with their loving embrace. His loving embrace. Minutes slipped through my cold fingers and fell to the unforgiving ground. The crowds thinned. If I don’t find him today, I’ll give up. This time I would, I swore to myself.

Then I saw it; the back of a head with dark curly hair, identical to his. Wind-blown, a little messy, yet impossibly gorgeous. Then the head turned. My breath. Stuck in my throat, came out almost immediately. It wasn’t him. No tan skin. No beautiful green eyes that gleamed with humor, yet still retained a wistful quality. No tall strong yet lean body that had swore to protect my life. No unconscious smile that played tirelessly at his lips. Instead a gangly teenager with pimples covering his pallid face. His eyes were a dull brown and held no sparkle of love when they looked at me. I turned away, disgusted with myself and full of crushed hope. Yet a small, annoyingly hopeful voice in my head whispered in a bell-like voice, What about tomorrow? Maybe it will be him tomorrow.

I couldn’t ignore it as much as I wanted to. What if he comes tomorrow and I’m not there? No, I won’t come! I won’t! The internal battle raged madly inside me. I walked away, determined. But I knew, deep inside, I would be back tomorrow, at five-thirty. And the day after that, and after that.

Maybe it was just love.

Ok, fear not. I'm not such a romantic sop usually. This is just a random scribbling I wrote some time ago. As you can see the grammar is horrendous and the writing is poor. But I felt a need to put something on. 

P.S. No, don't worry, I'm not in love with a guy with green eyes and dark locks (though I'm sure he would be quite handsome).  Wow, am I ruining the effect? Ok, I'll go now.