Let's fly away now ♥

hello, 2012

2012-01-20T14:15:00.000+10:30

A belated Happy New Year to you all!
I've certainly been kept busy, hence the lack of posting. On Wednesday, I found out that I have been offered a place at the Bachelor of Medicine/Bachelor of Surgery program in my state - and I have definitely been walking on air ever since. I promise, once I get my feet back on the ground, that I will be back - there is so much to say (and I currently have neither the proper articulation nor the eloquence to describe things well), and I am so hopeful for the future.

I hope the year has been kind to you, so far.

Love,
x

merry christmas

2011-12-24T20:00:00.001+10:30

“You’re beautiful, but you’re empty. No one could die for you.”
– The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupéry

You longed to press the erase button, until everything and everyone was gone. Because knowing this love, and then losing it all, was perhaps a thousand times more painful than never loving at all. At least then, your heart could be salvaged: locked in a steel cage, and grow cold with absence and loneliness. You’d be numb, but at least you would never have to experience the agony of this most vital organ (the one tentatively connected, by a million little spider-strings, to your soul) being torn to ribbons, collected, and lit on fire. You would be alone, but you would be safe.

And she rebuked these beliefs, tiny creature with great ideals.
'It was worth it all along. Love will return; like the wild birds in Spring,’ she would stroke your face and make promises far too great for a seventeen year old girl.
How could you tell her that you had nothing left? Only flowers growing from your chest, marking anniversaries of death. You had tried to turn over the stones, but had neither the strength, nor the courage to unearth old secrets and move such weight. How could you tell her that you had relented so long ago? That your hands have grown used to being alone, that all the love lines had faded from your palms.
But still, she continues with whispers and tears, and it crosses your mind, far too late, that perhaps you are not the only one she is trying to convince.
She continues, gentle and pleading, with hands (trembling) clasped and face turned to the sky:

'Your heart will rise again, a phoenix from ashes.’

Merry Christmas!
The last week has been so kind to me. Senior year/University entrance scores were released, and 99+ (from a range of 0 to 99.95) was such a nice surprise to wake up to. I had my mother beside me that morning; shaky hands finally revealed something that I could be proud of, despite everything that has happened this year. I swear I heard my grandmother's voice the night before (though it may have been nerves and fatigue and simply my longing for her that led me to dream).

Results aside, I've been doing a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, having long existential conversations, borrowing books from the library, making breakfast foods and watching several wonderful movies (found copies of The Royal Tenenbaums, Breakfast at Tiffany's and The Virgin Suicides). Friday was spent in the city; at the gardens for a picnic, and then listening to music and sitting by the river. A day for slow songs with simple key signatures – minimal accidentals, and light melodies. A day for feeling content and for feeling infinite.

A lot more to say, but for another time. I do hope everyone has the most wonderful holidays - I don't think I will post until next year (strange to say that, isn't it?).

Love, always,

when she sings

2011-12-19T21:25:00.002+10:30

It was that look in his eyes.
Easily mistaken for searching; but in reality, a hidden attempt to visually drink every aspect of her (mannerisms, aesthetics, movements) carve it into his bones and exchange marrow with this memory. It wasn’t just her beauty, it was her spirit – but perhaps they are one and the same – that he wanted to capture and drown in, to live forever a part of, to make a home of.

The crook in her elbow, the way her lips trembled; they became ribbons in his mind, tied to branches, double bowed and scouts’ knots – meticulous in manner, he longed to never lose them. But he knew, berating the fact and refusing to wholeheartedly accept it, that they would loosen one day – they would fray and tangle and collapse under the heavy snow of time and distance. Leaving nothing but empty woods and bare trees.

And with his fate well expected but passionately dreaded, he will trek through his mind and curse all the deities he knows (but most of all himself and his cruel Memory), digging hopelessly with weary hands and sunken eyes for any trace of Her and All She Was – but there is nothing. Night after night after damned night, nothing but cold and loneliness and a false scent, dreamt up in a failed attempt to place her once more.

Then he, too, will succumb to the nothingness of his mind: one that has been searched and rearranged and ruined, destroyed at last as he lights the match and watches the white walls wax and wane and burn away.

I devour, the classics, and poets, and scientific journals: they fill my mind and let me fly. Who needs meals for sustenance when I have words?
What am I, but fragments of these pieces? – Arranged and rearranged until I feel steady, then seasons change and so do I.

(This piece was inspired by the way Humphrey Bogart looks at Audrey Hepburn whilst she sings La Vie En Rose in the film, Sabrina )

Ballerina's tale

2011-12-15T12:43:00.002+10:30

Ballerina's tale
"Angles and mirrors, calculated steps/
your soubresaut and pirouettes."

Why, it was not so terrible after all! What was all this worry for?
Things could be golden and bright, if one only moved quick enough.
But, hark! Liquid, this beauty was fleeting, and Desperate for more,
she sought outstretched limbs and grew her hair to prove she lived,
to prove her existence.

(and despite the brave face, the suffering and pain)
The applause fell with the curtains; the sound of rain.

I am free, well and truly - my last interviews concluded on the 6th, and since then I don't think I've had a day to myself. Busy/busy/busy - the trip interstate was wonderful for me, a lot of retail therapy and spending time with extended family. Been seeing lots of friends, applying for work at bookstores, filling my closet with pastels and crimsons and navy. A little bit all over the place: December is never quite calm, always filled with lights and candy and the strangest weather.

It's hard to decipher what should be published/what should be kept hidden for a while longer, these days. These posts seem to be mirrors; different reflections of the same moods - perhaps I only post when I am nostalgic, aching for delicacy and lightness and feathered friends; perhaps I simply live in an irremovable state of rose-coloured clouds.

Regardless, I solemnly swear to be more this summer. Working towards writing more pieces like this, and this: refraining from simple, delicacies such as the amateur lines above.
I've been a little bit absent all year, haven't I? Maybe I have outgrown this place (maybe it has outgrown me), but I am not quite ready to move on yet, so stay with me a little while longer, won't you?

Love, always

2011-11-22T15:30:00.000+10:30

November, slow down.
The month has been incredibly busy (the eleventh hour always is, isn't it?), and since my last post, I have completed my final exams and officially graduated. A lot of raw emotions surrounding these events: first and foremost, an inexplicable sadness of leaving, for I did love it so (and shamelessly, too). I am also greeted with whole months until University begins and though this break is riddled with interviews and anxiety over course offers etc, I am trying my very best to embrace this freedom wholeheartedly.

Soon it will be time to look over the year of 2011 and note changes with a conglomerated sense of nostalgia and pride - growing passions/fading memories/poor attempts at maintaining a blog and photo diary. But I digress; the time for reminiscing is not yet upon us and I still have much more to do before the year is over. Such include travelling interstate to visit my dear brother for a week (my flight is tomorrow!), interviews for Medicine and Dentistry courses, summer literature, developing old cameras and seeing loved ones as much as possible.

'Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.'

– Frederick Buechner

Love,

still

2011-11-02T21:38:00.001+10:30

Right in the midst of final exams -- November is always full of emotion -- I am graduating, I am growing; I am becoming something etc etc. I've just tidied my room to the soundtrack of La Vie En Rose, and am feeling incredibly nostalgic and contemplative.

First and foremost, you should know that I am happy. Joy, frequently broken up with fragments of anxiety and nerves and other emotions surrounding "growing up" (such an elusive and drawn out process, really). There is so much left to do this year; I've still got so much more living to do.

I'll leave it at that -- quiet thoughts, I've still got so much more to say, but that is for another time when I am not so drunken (rosy-cheeked) with fatigue and nostalgia.

My love, always,

x

2011-10-11T13:28:00.000+10:30

(cont.)

For the second time tonight, you will feel the burden of being human: born with both the tendency to seek value and meaning in life, and the arguable inability to find any (a conflict appropriately named The Absurd). There are many different opinions surrounding this controversial area, though none can be effectively proven or disproven. Heaven, reincarnation, nothing at all, or maybe it is something else completely inconceivable. Perhaps, and this seems a most unbearable fate, perhaps this is what happens when your heart stops beating and your blood runs dry – you will become stuck in a coffin with only your thoughts to keep you warm.

Such existential questions will continue to overwhelm you, and it is at this moment that you will relent, and you will plead for Sleep to lay her hands on you and carry you away. You will long for the cool touch upon your forehead, like relief from a fever - but Sleep can be cruel to the insomniac, and will refuse out of spite.

Now you are left with nothing but a weary mind and wrinkled sheets. In your despair, you will shut your eyes and recite all the things you are certain of, in a battle to keep your previous thoughts at bay. Drunken with fatigue, all of these things you love and know will become tangled and escape your weak grasp: the phonetic alphabet, your grandmother’s last words, the physics behind the blue of the sky, playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata on the piano. Drunken with fatigue, you may cry out, attempt to reach for your loves with outstretched arms and will them to come back, come back to you. You will promise to never take them for granted again, and you will begin to realise that these things are enough to carry on, despite any fear of the unknowns surrounding life. Seeing this, Sleep will grow warm and pity you; ultimately granting you herself, for her cruelty is just as ephemeral as her heart is kind.

A little under a month until my final exams commence: the end is in sight! I have but four days left of my high-school life, and let it be known that I am incredibly sad about this -- the words of Tennessee Williams ring true to me right now; 'there's so many things in my heart that I cannot describe to you!'.

Nostalgia and a longing for more youthful times aside, this term break (my last, oh) has been wonderful to me. I've had time. Study dates in the library, re-reading old favourites, those long dusty bus rides that allow me to indulge in reverie. A lot of late nights with friends; simply talking. Birthday celebrations, dress-ups and baking. Conversations with people you never expected to have; those meaningful ones that catch you off balance, and just make you feel a little less alone. These are the things that have kept me busy this last week, and I am struggling to hold on to all of them (memories), amidst a rather traumatising revision schedule.

October is a month for ghosts and colour, and how I try to embrace this. Coming to terms with the death of loved ones is a little easier, now: have found solace in talking with my mother, who does not cry as much these days. I feel as though this post (this conversation) has gone on for too long - and so it meets its abrupt end with an I love you and a promise for better things in late November.

Always,

2011-09-24T14:19:00.003+09:30

'It is curious how you first begin to realise that you are alone with your thoughts'

This curiosity often arrives in the dead of the night, when the long, tapering fingers of Sleep clutch at your mind, willing defeat, and the half moons under your eyes are deepest, filled with the day that has long left you.

You should have noticed by know that as Sleep tightens its grasp on your consciousness, one’s attention span fades. Consequently, the flicker of shadows and the gentle touch of midnight breeze breathe life to unreasonable phobias and quickened heartbeats – with held breath and clenched hands, you begin to convince yourself of a metaphysical presence close by.

Time flows on, and you are left again with the realisation that you are irrevocably alone in the imprisonment of your thoughts, but oh! The fear lingers on; no amount of deep breaths can shake your trembling. It grows, and you know nothing can shake a soul like the Unknown, a common companion to Insomnia.

‘What if’s flood your mind, causing Regret and Guilt to fly in from those open windows and settle in your bones: you are soon caught in a most destructive game filled with a desire for the past and a new resilience for the future.

Then Death will arrive, silent and late, and beckon. Your thoughts will run towards the cloaked figure, and you will curse the human ability for love because nothing is more painful than grief. And when you think you can stand no more of this self-confessed inane and unhealthy recollection of your losses (the type you attempted to avoid before), Death will play his final card: revealing the bitter question mark of what happens following Life.

August has passed by in a whisper; I turned seventeen on the fifth, and celebrated another year of revolution quietly with close friends, cinnamon toast, old playlists, late night car drives and homemade chicken potpie over the weekend.

I am currently a little under the weather, so bear with me. Writing essay upon essay has left me weary and tiresome; studying for upcoming tests and trial exams were even more exhausting! But it is growing warmer over here - Spring has arrived, and with it a fever and a joy.

Finding life a little less full of dichotomies, and instead discovering the finer shades residing patiently between the extremes. And it's nice - in a buttery, nostalgic sense, as though countless many have been through this before, and everything has been okay.

September is going well, and I hope you feel the same.

x

missing

2011-09-17T11:47:00.000+09:30

I'm sorry -- problems with my internet and a week of trial examinations have left an unprecedented hiatus for a month and a half. Both shall be resolved soon, and I'll be returning.
Thank you for staying: promise me you'll keep well, xxx

conversational pieces

2011-07-31T11:18:00.001+09:30

The month of July

"You turn living into language, transcribing beats and breaths and the occasional loss of both: but these books are ephemeral, filled with ineffable joys and superfluous sadness," said she to the poet.

Note the way you note the days, flyaway hair and trembling hands, reading tarot cards and horoscopes in the early hours of morning - un-anchored spirits are all that is left. So beckon all tender and tremulous thought, and flee from lackadaisical worlds (borne in the cold, thy apathetic infection).

Drown out these fears (they know my hands too well) in a cacophony of questions and the pursuit for answers; warmed with the knowledge of a lingering existence beyond an unforgiving season.

Words leaving me with every breath: I am stuck, overwhelmed by the notion of senior year (it is the thought of it that seems to overwhelm me more than the workload), and oh - am I being melodramatic? (The answer is a resounding yes, I simply need constant reminders to maintain perspective).

A few lines to sum up the term break just passed: Anna Karenina, Kafka and Sartre, visits to the local gallery and museum (felt similar sentiments to Holden Caufield in regards to their constant nature), dressed up with dear friends to see the midnight screening of Harry Potter (tears, everyone calm down and take deep breaths now), library hours, long walks/long talks, cold hands and chipped mugs, french music, the need to develop my disposable, tiny road trips and birthday celebrations.

Nearly seventeen is a strange age to be; as though on the cusp of independence but still retaining some childish illusions and naivety. I feel as though I used to be surer of myself, and now I am an almost esoteric identity (and I mean this in the way all adolescents do - the sudden, and unwarranted, desire to define oneself is something I am trying to discard).

I hope you've been well - love,

feeling sentimental

2011-06-30T23:10:00.002+09:30

Wednesday, June 22. (Winter Solstice)

She became all too aware of the transient nature of young souls;
'Fleeting, we are ghosts - fragments of our adult selves...
Who am I now/who was I then?'

Like Keats, she believed that beauty was truth, truth beauty --
and with rose-tinted thoughts and glassy eyes,
she failed to expect the accompanying pain: of being so alive.

And when it arrived - those waves of sorrow,
a blush crept across her cheeks: the stars spilled into the night,
'How could it be - that hearts could grow too full,
even at the ache of brimming; and remain indelibly so?'

Sixteen years - lived.
A forever ago.

Lately, I have been struggling with copious amounts of homework, and this is made worse with my tendency to gravitate towards procrastination (one that I expect accompanies most sixteen year olds faced with the prospect of endless revision), in the form of old movies (oh - John Hughes, you are magnificent, and Sofia Coppola, how I love thee - like every other adolescent girl with an affinity for pastels and aesthetically pleasing sets).

But amid this senior year panic, I have been happy - finding myself surrounded by the sweetest people and the most astounding revelations. Term break is arriving (well-received, as always), and it seems an era since I last posted -- I have been reading quite a bit as of late, and feel as though I have become exponentially more 'aware' of the world and its past and the human condition. That said, I am still incredibly inexperienced and naive etc etc; but it is nice to feel a little less alone and a little more understanding - to have a slight grasp [tenuous/trembling/tenuous] on the world and its woes and its beauty.

(A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith/White Oleander by Janet Fitch)

I hope you are all well -
Love, always

x

(movie stills from: La belle et la bête, circa 1946)

2011-06-04T11:56:00.001+09:30

Our innocence walked the plank, that year. We were no longer children.
One by one, we experienced the inevitable growth into a new world. We were introduced to war and broken hearts. Some built invisible ice castles around their fears, and others grew hearts even colder. Spilt milk did not cause tears, but secondhand smoke did. Adulthood arrived, and there was to be an endless battle between tragedy and beauty, to the point that both would merge and soon everything would be a bit of both. We were all beautiful tragedies, alive and lonely.

x

(refer to the comments section)

requiem

2011-05-29T12:00:00.010+09:30

Requiem for innocence

Monday

Her fingertips (testing bathwater) soon became swallowed whole:

These days, shaking hands accompany the most menial duties -

the cutlery won't stay in the drawers.

These days, my thoughts won't remain placid.

Tuesday

Liberation, she discovered, is the result of acceptance

or the gentle breaking of one's ribs

'Easy breathing', she declared with joy.

Wednesday

Then, timber -

here comes the dulcet tone of death.

Ask yourself this:

Did everyone else disappear,

or did you?

As of late, it has been a struggle - with my family scattered around the world: I want to cling to them all and pull them in towards me, hold them tight and stretch my limbs like string, knotted bones to make them stay. Promises like songbirds; they are coming home (one day, once upon a time).

I know I have been extremely erratic lately; I feel like I have let a lot of people down.
But - I am happy. I promise; and promises are stronger than I.
Don't forget that I love you - don't forget that I love:

Always,

p.s. the photographs are incredibly old; a little under two years now. I am to develop my disposable camera soon, and share with you memories of the year so far. "we are the ever-living ghosts of what once was." In other news... life has been good to me. Oh, and I turn seventeen in a little over 2 months (yes, that's right - almost at the legal age to perform magic outside of Hogwarts!), and evidently, still as dorky as ever - life is good.

an ode to spring

2011-04-30T12:00:00.018+09:30

Goodbye, to a lover -

I take

armfuls of butterfly memories to keep me warm,

but I fear: I cannot hold on

swallowtails, monarchs, birdwings:

a flood of colour fills the air

la fin n'a pas de fin

(the end has no end).

Farewell, the evening shadows are arriving -

you, you, you translucent, intangible,

I crave you, but -

the darkness

and ghosts

here, again.

It is Autumn.

An attempt to accept what has been, and what is now. I feel shy, all of a sudden. As though seeing an old friend for the first time in a while, and realising how you've changed - a faint blush.

This term break has been different from others: still well-received, but a little more busy with work. It has been spent rather well - visiting thrift shops, planning road trips, listening to The Strokes/classical music, study dates at the library - yes, I live quite a dorky life. I have begun thinking of my future; I think I may be opting for Medicine, and specializing in Paediatrics [essentially working with children]. But oh, sometimes Psychology tugs at my heart-strings.

Decisions are to be made, but I realise I need to take care of the now - I apologise for the incessant stream of words -
I send you my love, always:

renaissance

2011-04-27T08:00:00.016+09:30

Dear hearts,
I am trying to return, attempting to transcend my current state into words.
My grandmother passed away since my last post, and what followed was a trip overseas for her funeral, anxiety attacks, heart palpitations, end of first term. I have had one week of term break, spent neglecting school work [regret, regret], and running from the heavy, heavy realisation that I have lost someone I love.

'I am okay' and I will repeat that, stubborn mantra, childhood wish, until it is true.

Sometimes I just lie in bed and hear my heart beat; the bittersweet reassurance that I am still here. And I wait - beating back doubts and insecurities and overwhelming expectations from everyone I know - I seek comfort in the arms of Morpheus.

So, hello, I am alive.
I was struggling, perhaps I still am, but truthfully
I am too tired these days to put up a fight.

I need to remember all I have and all I know:
those I love, and where I'll go.

Love, always,

[The photograph was taken at a little local festival earlier in the season. There wasn't anything particularly meaningful about it at the time, I simply thought it to be pretty; But now, it's a paradise, a longing, a desire: for blue skies, bright lights, childhood magic...]

how to disappear completely

2011-03-11T20:30:00.005+10:30

There are crevices in her heart - filled with the dust of aging knowledge;
plethoric with words too heavy to crawl across her skin at night.
'I have become imbued with symbolic meaning,' she cried,
'Hark! I am but a hastily-drawn portrait of the human condition -'

And the moon offered no comfort, for it was truth
life had endowed her the fragility of human spirit
and left her weeping in despair, if that:
glass bones and cobwebbed hair
left her esoteric (understood by few)
with only feathered friends (who flew away anyway).

And time was wasted so eloquently;
the sun was silk
the night was velvet
so she spun dresses of both, and swallowed the needle
to disappear completely.

It has been almost a month since I've last written (a meticulously planned return) and so I feel I should offer you all some beautiful explanation for my absence. But the truth can never be so eloquently phrased; I have simply been overcome by life and menial duties - so forgive me, I've missed you!

Senior Year has been exciting/exhausting, and each day I am filled with fondness for my education so far. (I understand this is quite a dorky confession, but it is true nonetheless, and I solemnly swear to be truthful here!) My days have been filled with school and academics, local festivals and loved ones' celebrations.

But I have returned, if only briefly - I am weary of making promises, for experience has left me jaded - to send you my love and thank you for being such wonderful creatures (how you all found me/still read this, I don't know!)
Love, always,

2011-02-27T21:42:00.002+10:30

I've disappeared with my words, I'm sorry I'm sorry

happy valentines

2011-02-14T17:30:00.049+10:30

My days are being slowly filled (overflowing) with schoolwork and social commitments, missing my brother and learning to live. The house feels a little less familiar without dear JC, but that sentiment is reserved for another post, another day. There are times when I forget how wonderful it is to exist; and reading old words (wise friends) eases the ache that accompanies lonely hallways/empty beds.

Hark, there are so many that I love, this feeling is hard to convey in such limitations. Some notions are only truly understood by living - you can analyze things over and over, but in the end this can only result in mere observations, you will only ever grasp the shell of emotion: fickle and fragile, nothing like the absolutely terrifying real thing.

(the way you wanted to disappear, holding back tears/
trembling hands and fluttering lips, first(second, third) kisses/
you ate my heart/ i love you/ how could you/ i love you)

I prattle, without significant consequence and I apologise.
For the lack of poetry, lack of beauty in my words: I can only offer blunt thoughts produced from late-nights, spent listening to Beach House and Bon Iver and classical music (an embarrassing admittance*). If you've managed to read this all and remain from promptly un-following, you are a doll. And if not, I adore you anyway.
Love to you all -

x

* Perhaps what is even more embarrassing is my radio being constantly tuned to Classic FM these days. Oh, I kid - Bach/Tchaikovsky/Beethoven/Debussy are totally on 'coolness' levels with Gaga etc. Doesn't everyone indulge in a little of their parents' classical music every now and then.....? (Yeah, I'm looking at you)

2011-02-01T21:20:00.004+10:30

She sighed, and looked up to the moon's waxy glow:
how she longed to be impervious to night, to all.
Pressed for time, she whispered to her fingertips;
tucking the words away (with all the others) as soon as they fell out.
"I have become the flotsam and jetsam found upon sea; emotional wreckage being pulled out by life’s continuous tides."
And an open window called, heavy with longing and mournful with dust
the winds arrived and swept the room: her breath danced amongst shadows.
Danced right out the room, she was flying, she was gone.

"I am no longer forgotten."

Senior year has begun, and I am left in a state of ambivalence: thank you all so much for your kind words and kind thoughts, I adore you all! I have been absent for a while, my brother is moving interstate in less than a week and I've not been able to bring myself to indulge in words (I am lacking sleep, drunk with fatigue - do I sound it?).

I hope you have all been wonderful~

prism

2011-01-23T00:12:00.025+10:30

I have been a prism, lately.

Life disperses through me, resulting in emotion strewn across worlds:
oceans absorbing melancholy (waves are merely the wrinkles of pensive minds)
love stolen by the moon (full from the blush of young romantics)
courage is fed to the wolves, fear has gone with the wind -
even nostalgia becomes swallowed by the six o'clock shadow.

Only fatigue remains; akin to aching on a summer's day,
'How terribly strange it is to be alive,' we cry.

Then, in the midst of exhaustion, existential vows
what we had lost is returned, ten-fold
( an orchestra )
arriving with nothing more than the will to be:
everything is beautiful and everything hurts.

(And life goes on.)

I know it has been a while: I have been lost in living, preparing for senior year (at my sixteenth year of life), do you ever find yourself weary of existing? Not only the slings and arrows that Shakespeare calls: but the joys and beauties, too. In any case, I am content, right now - the words are coming back, albeit reluctantly at times (my vocabulary suffers during the holidays) so forgive my lack of eloquence in this post, as well as my unfortunate ability to prattle.
Love, love, love

x
p.s. I think I've been reading too much Oscar Wilde... I'm scared of developing this inner monoluge that is spoken in an old English accent that dramatizes every little detail and has a sense of general ~morose-ness~ and ~melancholy~ and involves everyone dying. Not really what I consider an ideal disposition (again, attempts at light-hearted comedy to balance the otherwise seemingly depressing post! And again, failing miserably)

oh, hark

2011-01-13T20:43:00.004+10:30

Sometimes, you say
I am nothing: dust in the wind
I could disappear, waif thin, wait –
Hark! you lied, there are times
fire burning, warm and bright:
one consumed, dispersed until
I am everywhere, everything.

The image is entitled 'a few of my favourite things'; these are a few purchases I have made this week. The vintage box is now home to many secrets, The Bell Jar (Faber First edition) has been a well-read companion in numerous bus rides, the necklace is a little something I made upon purchasing the heart locket.
(click here for an animation I made to accompany the photograph.)

My love to you all -

x

p.s. I think I've mentioned this previously; how knowing that people I know in real life read this used to unsettle me a little. Again, [I LOVE YOU ALL], and I want you - need you - to understand that this is merely a fragment of who I am etc, and all this tragedy in my words really doesn't apply to myself! That's all....... ok

bonne année

2011-01-07T14:51:00.106+10:30

Impermeable layers (only memory seeps through)
protecting the glass jar, bell jar, might as well be
filled with jellyfish limbs, butterfly wings,
all things untouched, all things once dreamed of.

Those hands pressed against cold glass:
when did we all become such breakable things?
My love for you could feed a thousand souls.
Words are fluttering from me, now.
Half-formed sentences are all I can manage, forgive me.
Forgive me, wild wolves, come find me in the new moon.

The photograph is the first entry of my weekly photo diary this year, appropriately entitled 'Celebrations'. I am yet to confirm my resolutions (revolutions) for the year.

I've missed this, and am in the process of returning.
Slow, slow, exposed film, x-rayed skeletons.

I hope everyone has had safe and happy holidays, with love,
xxx

p.s. I am considering doing Medicine when I graduate. Eek - actually doing something with my life seems a little scary.

2010-12-31T23:59:00.003+10:30

You painted my picture and called me prettier.
It's things like this that result in the thrum of my heart whenever you're around:
nerves dancing, erratic beats.
I blush (blood rush) I blush.

Have a happy, happy New Year, doves.

x

p.s. this was boxing day, I believe? My dear friend A took this a little before we went to the park.

merry christmas

2010-12-24T21:00:00.002+10:30

“You - who arrived like a storm
and left with the wind

You - rose lipped lover

You - a summer’s ghost

Always, you.”

“I want to weave myself into your thoughts; like honey, sickly sweet,” she whispered love-drunk, one night, “sometimes I feel as though your love could consume me.”

He laughed and smiled and pointed to the moon; the stars; gesturing to the universe surrounding them. It was as though everything was a delicate reminder of how fragile they had become; without one another, what could remain, but dust?

The photograph was taken last Christmas Eve, spent overseas.
This year I am to be surrounded by family and friends; home,
about to begin watching The Nightmare Before Christmas
and I couldn't be happier.

Merry Christmas! I hope everyone eats lots and gets that feeling of 'what-have-i-done-but-it-tastes-so-good-let's-have-some-more' that is imperative when having a good family holiday!

#2

2010-12-19T08:00:00.001+10:30

Sunday
loneliness is just a reminder of how we are all just so
tragically, yet beautifully unique.

Feel like my eyelids are filled with dust; maybe I will just succumb to an everlasting slumber.

Monday
"'She'll have hair made of whispers, and eyes made of sea-glass. Limbs akin to new-born deerlings' and a smile hidden like smoke. And her heart will grow and one day overcome her, simply because she loved so. Then, the glass would shatter, and it would be The End.
But it is imperative that she dies, weeping, yet in love. Tragedy and beauty always go hand-in-hand, greeting each other like old friends.'
Maybe the whole entire book will be done in lemon juice, so nobody would ever have to read it. Wouldn't that be divine? I'll make it so people can only ever read it by moonlight. "
(on being questioned about whether I will ever write a book.)

Tuesday

Today I went to town with one of my best friends, and we spent the day visiting old haunts (filled with memories of when we were children). The botanic garden; plants upon plants, I could cry with nostalgia. The art gallery; new appreciation for old works filled me; a moving short film played in a tiny room. The museum; magic, inexplicably magic.
The bus rides seemed infinite, adorned with fond memories and quiet giggles.
An irrepressible feeling of contentment filled me; fills me now.
And life goes on. x

Wednesday

A handful of dust,
my heart, my heart

keeps falling apart.

p.s. the image is from Tuesday's visit to the museum. Thank you for everything lately, you are all unimaginably wonderful (I can't believe people actually read this/I can't believe it's not butter/you're all really nice for not thinking me crazy). I love you~

2010-12-15T11:51:00.004+10:30

Diary excerpts from the week***:

Thursday
We played Old Friends/Bookends and whispered about new dreams. Fresh in the air, they lingered and stay, still. Always finding it so incredible to be alive; to have a self (a name, even, that contains me) let alone know such amazing people to be alive with. Have been thinking a lot about existentialism and all things attached.
I am drunken with fatigue; do I sound it?
The answer is yes, as always. x

Friday
“Perhaps I would have lost the longing for knowledge, instead, been so blissfully ignorant of how much there is to know and explore in this goddamn beautiful world.”

Saturday

I just wanted to scoop up the remains of his dreams, and piece them back; one bitter fragment at a time. I would have, I would have collected the stars for him.
But he didn’t need me to, he whispered, every night in response.
And that was the best part, I think. That is the best part.
(a younger self’s words, I think I went through a strange ~phase~, but the sentiment remains)

These are just thoughts, of the week; I will post the second half of these on the weekend.
Lots of love,

*** DSICLAIMER: I don't have the willpower to keep a diary, but sometimes I just write in Word Documents if I feel the need to. I don't know why I felt the need to tell you this. Enjoy!

flyaway hair

2010-12-08T10:22:00.024+10:30

Transcendence of thoughts reminds her

of coloured balloons leaving little girls' hands.

'Be still,' she cried, 'be still.'

and so it was, (evermore).

The last few days have been wonderful, really. The photograph is of a tiny gallery I have started in my room: all but two images are my own. I am considering starting a 52 weeks photo diary, in 2011... But I can see into the future: I'll probably forget it in the third week and then, upon realising that I have failed my resolution, eat my feelings.
Love, always.

x

p.s. I have decided to send letters to my friends this year, for Christmas :)
It has been fun, reminiscing and being rather corny whilst I write these.

gone

2010-12-01T00:47:00.003+10:30

You are vague, always vague:
conversations never whole, always
cavities
filled with
silence.

(And chanted from childhood, a mantra for many:
silence is golden, speech is silver, be kind, play nice, keep safe)

Perhaps then, our hearts are a thousand golden feathers.
Suffering in Silence: Polished by Poison.

Cannot say for certain what is real and what is
Gone -
with the wind.
Gone -
as september, october, november.

x
p.s. this is what I wore to see Harry Potter 7: The Deathly Hallows. Do I take dorkiness to the next level yet? It was lovely, and accompanied by constant weeping [to my embarrassment... but Dobby, why you so beautiful for?!]. Sorry for the bruised knees. Ron was magnificent. I think I might implode when I watch the end of the last film.

hallows

2010-11-26T10:32:00.001+10:30

There is a prism of impossible dreams.

Some are caught in inescaple dimensions,

(caged lions, swallowed keys)

and others dispersed into a million colours

(evening dust, a thousand eyes)

Catch the latter, and keep the former safe.

Lay them gently upon your weeping wounds

and find a quiet place where Forgetting is easy.

And sit and wait and sit and form waif-

thin limbs, cobweb hair and tiny grins.

(Moonlight, moonlight, Adagio Sostenuto

the first movement of Beethoven's Sonata.)

This is how ghosts are made.

(Happy Halloween)

x

p.s. thank-you for all the well-wishes and kind thoughts, you are all wonderfully strange creatures~
Overwhelmed, but both exam and recital are over, and I am pleased!

note to self:

2010-11-11T19:43:00.004+10:30

Have been thinking a lot about the state of society and desolation,
resultant of The growing Lack of Conscience in humanity.

Such anguish and sorrow make my bones ache, heavy in the longing for change.
( Liberation. Justice. Beauty.)

Contemplating traveling the world; who am I, if not a form of change,
a body of thought capable of creating a difference?
(Must discard insecurities, swap fear for courage.
Leos are meant to be braver than this.)

The future looks hopeful, if only for a brief moment;
a trick of the light and the blink of an eye.

Stay with me, Bright Eyes.

x

p.s. I will be back at the month's end, when all end-of-year exams have dispersed.
p.p.s y'all probably think I'm going to be a hippie when I grow up. (saying y'all is good fun)
p.p.p.s: as fun as these are, you're probably getting annoyed. Sorry. I think studying really depressing/though-provoking topics during English has had a significant impact on me, as though I am all ~enlightened~ now, but I'm really not..... yeah

2010-10-29T21:45:00.007+10:30

Dear Hearts,

I am so exhausted.
Today was our school’s speech day and all I wanted to do was cry, for the most part.
Even on stage (especially on stage). Even when it was all over.
And not for any (plausible) reason.
I’m just sad, and I hope you understand.

xxx

(but I'm okay. I promise. It's probably just hormones. (TMI, sorry))

I have been away for so long, and I miss you all terribly. I will be back in a week or two; when things are calmer.

hidden

2010-10-23T16:44:00.009+10:30

Such existential questions are waiting to be answered, and I tremble at the thought.
You and I, secret-keepers, hide meanings within words within hearts within people.

(Please do not weep over this, for you are not alone.)

I have realised the following:

Memories romanticized and sleep lost, time has this way of changing everything.

I long for violin bows and red roses. Spells and double-moons and midnight.

Encounters with foxen have left me shaken.

It is these thoughts that cause my bones to turn to dust.

Translucent under bath-water, I wither, I wither.

Growing tiny, some days a disappearance is welcomed.

What lies in yesteryear's Dreams?

x

I have a maths exam and a piano recital this coming week.. Life is pretty swell. I'll be back soon, don't miss me too much (N.B. I always attempt to make some light-hearted comedy at the end of my posts because I feel like they are too depressing)

The Forest

2010-10-13T21:09:00.005+10:30

She carried half the forest in her hair. Lonely, nevermore.

The creatures whispered to her wise tales of princesses and oceans and woe.
Of people she wished to befriend, of endings accompanied with tears.
In languages so gentle, her lungs stilled in an effort to hear everything.
It was a pity, for as much as she understood, she could never explain.

And so these precious secrets remained just that.
The Forest grew and grew, until it was too much to contain.
Endless knowledge she could not bear to carry any longer.

She wept, as such a beautiful world Vanished.
And her heart beat on; rearranging itself atom by atom to Forget.

I have a story or two to share, would you stay and listen?

x

p.s. the notion of 400 followers seems rather frightening (who are you people?!). Kidding, hello, to all of you!
I don't know when I'll be back. Academic and music exams are consuming me, yikes.

Also, my bunny is fabulous.

2010-10-09T21:22:00.001+10:30

A storm. A tiny girl. A tiny piece of sea-glass caught in her heart.
Eyes opening and limbs unfolding, akin to newborn deer.
Lungs dancing like ghost swans; warm breath melting iced veins.
Now everything was beautiful, less distant.
Dreams resumed once Sleep returned, like the songbirds in Spring.
Unrelenting, this feeling grows, and it is stronger than a lion.

We are a thousand different hearts wrapped in bones and skin and eyelashes.
Don't ever forget the things that make you happy.

x

p.s. the photograph is a carousel at a fair. I went on a ride, and it was rather frightening, but strangely made me feel as though it was part of my slow journey into adulthood - overcoming fears and whatnot. No, I kid - I wish I could say it was a ~life-changing~ moment, but really I just screamed a lot and possibly suffered from a mild heart attack or two.

for monday.

2010-09-23T23:09:00.007+09:30

"I never understood what heartbreak meant. Maybe I still don't.
All I know is that when you love someone very much,
over time your heart softens and softens until everything is theirs."

- a younger self

Loss.
Lionhearts full of loss.
Is there such thing as feeling too much?

x

p.s. This is me being hormonal etc and seeking to channel such emotion into words.
(This is what being sixteen is like, constantly)

a tale of two hearts

2010-09-10T19:59:00.010+09:30

Sadness was wrapping its arms around us.
A sea, swollen and grey; sinking ships of bone-ache and heartbreak and everything Between. Melancholy humming and waves of apathy, some days better than others.

They surfaced (the third day of Spring) beautiful and whole.
The half-moons had disappeared and been replaced by tiny roses, thunder swapped for sweets under Mother Nature's rule. But the sea-salt had glued their eyes shut; eyelashes knitted together like held hands of dying lovers.

It was her love of silent letters that brought them back.
Names starting with M; Margot, Marlow, Morgen, Maddox. Shiny buttons and His handwriting. The way French movies made her weep. Everything that caused heartbeats to quicken; these are the things we should never forget.

x

2010-09-04T21:58:00.004+09:30

(I'm sorry I've not posted. I've been busy as a bee. It is Spring, after all.
I'll be back soon - just like the thunderbirds; roaring. Love, Athena.)

paper moons

2010-08-10T22:32:00.001+09:30

If paper plates can be made into moons, then this could be our happily ever after, our secret ending. But those who look, and don't really see, will never understand these things. They will only smile and ask, "If this is the moon, then why is it so small?", and by the time you try to explain, they'll have gone and gone to ask more questions and break more hearts. They don't mean to, of course, they never do.
This is why we keep secrets, so dreams are kept safe and remain just that, without words to change their meaning. I know some people that would sell their dreams for 99cents a piece, and these are the people that I want to tell the most to.
And I have tried to say these things in the simplest way possible;
because it is this simplicity that I understood best as a child.

Thank you all so much for the birthday wishes! I am overjoyed to be sixteen; sweet, albeit moody at times.
I am looking forward to the transformation in which I turn into an ~~emotional~~ angtsy ~~ being that is constantly fighting for liberation from my parents' expectations etc. I sort of imagined turning sixteen would change my life into some sort of Gossip Girl-eque drama. Sadly, I am still just as boring and just as inept at rebelling against rules.

I hope you're all incredible and that the world has been kind to you,

words for the sleepless

2010-07-25T17:07:00.013+09:30

Her chances at articulating simple half-formed goodbyes were stolen away by time, leaving nothing but emptiness and a hint of regret; the most bitter cold of all.

Usually when words get caught in my throat (stuck, like fingers through hair after a seaside trip) I am left lost and wistful for second chances; melancholy desires leave a blush on my cheeks. That day was an anomaly, for I am now glad my lungs could not carry such enormous feelings and misshapen sentiments- my sadness was only brief, and yet a potential poison to all the adored.

Time washed over me, like the sea on hot sand;
well missed contentment racing back just soon enough.
I was saved, and so were you, and this is where the memory ends.

x

violin bows

2010-07-21T12:20:00.002+09:30

...A little like violin bows synchronized under the moonlight; aesthetically pleasing, but more importantly, tenderly healing for all those around.
First, the music - almost whispers of lullabies, and then the melody rises;
louder and bolder, but just as sweet, I promise.
Blink and blink and blink, have your eyelids adjusted to the silver light?
Because when you are very much in love, stars fall from your eyelashes again and again, or so I am told, by wiser beings. Now you're finally seeing everything that you had previously missed; tiny details and larger pictures, almost lost forever.
Some times life is simply made of optical illusions, gentle and confusing and even more so as the sun sets and sets and the moon rises and glows.

once

2010-06-27T20:00:00.009+09:30

Why is 11:11 the time to make a wish?
I make wishes all the time, 1:47, 8:29, 12:51; midnight, sunrise;
with magic wells, with shooting stars, with birthday candles;
with nothing at all but the closing of eyes and curling of fists.

This is the last week of school, before our term break.
Here are some books I have read lately, and loved, very much:
♥ The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
♥ White Oleander - Janet Fitch
♥ Franny and Zooey - J.D. Salinger
♥ Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
♥ Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
♥ Girl, Interrupted - Susan Kaysen
♥ The Virgin Suicides - Jeffrey Eugenides
♥ The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
♥ The Perks of Being A Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky

I have no doubt forgotten a few, regrettably, and I am sorry because I am so tired at the moment, my fingers can barely carry on. I inhale books; cannot even begin to explain my love for them [which is incredibly dorky, but I am a dork. JUDGE ME~]

Oh, and - I don't know what I want to do with my life.

x

missing memories

2010-06-25T00:00:00.003+09:30

Do you remember?
Days of Summer, oh, a cliched childhood of picket fences and missing teeth.
Innocence was the ribbon in your hair; the crooked bow, an acknowledgment to your beautiful chaos and careless self-confidence only childhood could carry.
Years and years; we encountered neater hair and longer laces. Our souls grew older; tired with time, and we had to invite our insecurities in to help us carry on.

I don't want to grow old, please let me keep my little red shoes & wishes for home.
Why did the fairytales have to end?
I would much prefer it if they kept on spinning and spinning in the old film reel; until the lights flickered and burned out just like time itself.

dog days are over

2010-06-18T10:27:00.011+09:30

THE LAST ACT OF CHILDHOOD
(the conclusion, the beginning is here)
Our innocence walked the plank, that year. We were no longer children.
One by one, we experienced the inevitable growth into a new world. We were introduced to war and broken hearts. Some built invisible ice castles around their fears, and others grew hearts even colder. Spilt milk did not cause tears, but secondhand smoke did. Adulthood arrived, and there was to be an endless battle between tragedy and beauty, to the point that both would merge and soon everything would be a bit of both. We were all beautiful tragedies, alive and lonely.

the ending of my school assignment, the middle has been written and hidden; in wooden drawers of bedside tables, I may resurrect it when I feel a bit more confident, but for now, I am left with this vague sense of trepidation. I don't know I don't know I don't know, please forgive my (occasionally feigned) ignorance to protect the ones I love.

picture: a box of lace and memories - I take comfort in old loves.

Thankyou for everything, you lovely people.
My exams have finished, too, and thank you for all the luck and darling wishes!
It is nearly the term break for me, which I am incredibly excited about :)

p.s. I am not posting until I have taken half-decent/acceptable photos, because I am stubborn like that.

love, always,

white rabbit

2010-06-07T22:17:00.005+09:30

tiny trees and tiny rainbows

I have the flu, life sux.
oh, and an excerpt from a school assignment:

The Last Act of Childhood:
Autumn had crept into the town, dragging darkness from the shadows and dispelling it in our young hearts. The leaves were fraying, as were our minds, and everyone was drowning in a heavy apathy that no amount of available beauty could transcend. I was 6, and a young terror. Unaware of this boredom, my fellow child comrades and I banded together to create our own cheer.
We would run to the trees and turn into tiny monkeys, screeching and howling at the golden sun; we saw yellow skies and purple earth; we climbed the Himalayas and swam all seven seas. Our imaginations liberated us from the lethargic spirits that condemned our parents and older siblings;
we were infinite in a timeless existence.

I've yet to finish, and I apologise for such a hurried post!

Love and love and love, always.
x

heartwarming, if only

2010-06-03T16:51:00.010+09:30

Winter days are here, and filled with pale colours and fading souls;
everyone has gone into hibernation, a deep slumber -
hiding in our tiny smiles, we're safe and safe and safe.

The nights are bittersweet.
There are late night phone calls from old friends,
accompanied with hot chocolate, piano sonatas and Salinger.
Sometimes even the most beautiful things can not transcend
the aching cold and the unbearable loneliness that creep into our hearts.

And we sit, waiting for the light to return,
healing under the moonlight, like magic.
Remembering old places, kind faces;
time has this way of changing everything and everyone.

x

a photo sundae

2010-05-29T16:09:00.004+09:30

hello, it's just melast summer, when both the grass and I were
a little less unruly, and a little more youthful.

les petites créatures
just a game of kiss-chasey between good friends.

'romanticism'
I've seen your dreams and I wish you would,
I wish you could understand how beautiful you look in the sun,
under the moonlight, against the half glow of an old lamp.
And how vulnerable we all are, when we close our eyes
and succumb to our imaginations; goodbye, reality.

--

I have been working on my flickr!
I hope you're having a most wonderful time, deers.
p.s. I'm nearly at 300 followers, wowwwwwwww
so strange because mostly this is just rubbish.
(you're all crazy, you hear me?!)

love and love and love,
x

sing me sad songs

2010-05-13T08:00:00.008+09:30

"So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad
and I'm still trying to figure out how that can be."

-The Perks of Being A Wallflower

It's what makes everything beautiful - you, me, the seconds that pass in silence; time slipping from our inherent bodies; and it doesn't really matter, because our souls are timeless, you see.

We're all stacking bricks on top of one another, and building invisible castles,
we visit these at night; when the stars go blue and the world whispers goodbye,
I'm safe. You're safe. Sometimes safety is not in numbers, but in loneliness.

And no, I won't invite you in just yet,
because that asks for too much and you know,
magicians lose their magic when you know the secrets behind their tricks.

--
(I feel different blogging now, because people I actually know might read this.
I'm still writing the same things, but I feel that little bit more hesitant
when clickclickclicking that publish button.
It's not that I don't trust them [I LOVE YOU ALL], but
I need you all to understand that this is simply a small fragment of who I am;
and no, don't read into my words too much - I enjoy writing of tragedy etc,
but I think that generally I have quite a happy disposition. Okay, cool.)

x

happy birthday

2010-05-09T11:31:00.008+09:30

one year bloggiversary

just though this deserved a special post.. or something.
x

autumn

2010-04-30T17:00:00.001+09:30

It's Autumn, and now everything is golden, especially at sunset,
and that means everything's going to be okay, doesn't it?
But not all that glitters is gold, so I am told and so I fear;
I have glitter in my lungs and I am slowly asphyxiating from
this heavy, heavy apathy that no amount of dancing can shake.

Intoxicating. That's Autumn - the calm before the storm;
we're safe and tiny piano sonatas ring through the night,
lulling us to deep sleeps and heartwarming dreams.

If Spring gives us fevers, Autumn gives us hope.
That is what I am led to believe, anyway; but my heart always plays tricks on me.
Of course, I should not trust whispered secrets that speak in beats -
they always end up being nothing, nothing at all, don't they?

x

strangers tell the truth

2010-04-20T19:25:00.003+09:30

Turn over your hand and put your fingers upon your wrist -
look past the steady beat beat beat of your heart and trace the blue veins that grow,
like the trees outside your window, his eyelashes, her fingers, beautiful.

Because these shadows paint secrets upon our skin;
even for only a moment, there it is, exposed; the truth.
And the heavier, darker spells collect under your eyes;
forming purple half moons that haunt those who know
reality and dreams, having lost the best of both.

--

"we stopped checking for monsters under the bed,
when we realised there was one inside of us."
-unknown
--

today i had my mini-trials for maths.
i'm so relieved, and i sort of feel like crying.
i don't know, i'm so exhausted.

x

storybooks

2010-04-18T17:00:00.007+09:30

just a few words and photos that i took a few nights ago.
note to self: you are not good with cameras, ha!--

--

The skies bruise easily, haven't you seen the sea?
It was once part of the sky; but it slipped and fell upon the earth;
leaving the other half crying, forever, and that was the first sign of love.

And the moon, oh the moon; it gets eaten up by the sun, when nobody is watching.
This is life, and the world is asleep, but we're going to be okay, I promise you that:
look outside - the sky is blue, so you don't have to be.

--

Ah, I want to make this into a tiny storybook.
(Evidently, I have no life! The idea makes me so happy :'))

Also, do listen to this song; it's one of the most beautiful things I've known.
I'm going to try and learn to play it, when I find the sheet music.
It makes me really happy and incredibly sad, I don't know how - it's magic.

LOVE TO YOU~~~

x

the secret answer

2010-04-16T23:00:00.008+09:30

We are the children of this century; lost and indifferent and trying to grasp ourselves
in the midst of this adolescent calamity - who are you, and who am I?We are fragile yet indestructible; contradictions, such beautiful contradictions.Ever changing, like the stars among the night and the dust with the seasons;vulnerable in bright summer evenings and infinite in gentler winter mornings,
a tiny beating hope of beauty all year round.

And how can you be certain that I will see you again someday?
For the sky might start falling from the moment I step outside,
invisible and flooding and heavy; wrapping our limbs up like presents;
It could carry us back to everything we have ever loved, and inevitably lost.

Eventually we would succumb to such silent suffocation
(in the most calming way, don't panic, sleep promises to be gentle)
the world would become hazy and slowly you would lose sight of where you are.
Now, take a moment - one breath and one beat - and ask yourself this:
did everything else disappear, or did you?

--

just a few bedtime thoughts, you know, no biggie.

I think I'm going to start a new notebook, if I have time.
I'd like to look back on all these words someday, and make sense of my mind,
I'm mad. We're all mad here, though.

Oh man, I love Alice in Wonderland 4eva.

x

just you wait

2010-04-13T14:44:00.014+09:30

Childhood notes under my bed, I unravel and read all old promises;
some are broken and rusted and gone, what is forever, anyway?
Maybe we have already lived a forever and a half,
you and I, made of old hearts and young minds.

'Love' was never so overused; it was kept safe and protected,
like a tiny bird in a golden cage; our hearts stayed within our ribs;
our fragile chests with no lock nor key.

I did not know that I loved, but I did, oh and how so;
the colour orange, the middle swing, the sound of cars on lonely days -
their effects on me are ghostly now; provoking only a faint blush of my heart.

But more important than all of these things?
The knowledge that we were happy and will be again, soon enough.

x

even then,

2010-04-10T20:29:00.001+09:30

There they were, the heartbeats through the air;
like fireworks exploding, planes through the sound barrier - bang bang bang, we heard them all, every single one,
everyone was breaking and beating and bursting with love.

but, why?
I longed for their happy endings.
I feared the turning of their hearts, the dark side of the moon,
when they said 'I love' no longer with the same meaning.
I know that loving people is exhausting,
I know that everything hurts more at night.
That everything is worth it, in the end.

'Even if it breaks your heart.'

--

Thankyou for all your emails and comments and tags;
I promise I will get back to you all, in due time!

Love, always,
x

breathe it back like valium

2010-02-17T16:45:00.005+10:30

these are the things i'm loving, at this very moment in time:

little letters in lockers
over-sized shirts with handwritten quotes
baking cakes for best friends' birthdays
writing at night, even if it means nothing at all
you, you and all the things you do.

I'm writing a story, for my school's yearly essay.
it's going to be about a girl, growing up, i think.

'and sometimes,' she thought to herself,
'sometimes, i want to bruise and i want to break
and shatter and shatter and shatter
into more pieces than my heart is made of,
and i don't quite know why
and i suppose that this is what hurts the most, really.'

I realise that this makes me sound like some depressive, self-harming person,

but I just think that written tragedy is usually beautiful.

On second thoughts, perhaps I shouldn't write about such things or they'll probably make me go to counselling, which would be sort of humorous, but mostly unpleasant.

just this, forever.

2010-02-09T20:10:00.006+10:30

sometimes i wish that there could be a sea of words
an ocean, a lake, any entity
in which i could swim and swim
when ever i felt the need to
it would be there, always there.

then one day perhaps when my bones are tired
i would wade in to the depths
and let them overcome me
words words words
letters and commas and spaces

i could read
every single book, every story,
every love letter in every language
soon my limbs and my bones
would form meanings of their own

and then, when i fall upon the shore
when my time is exhausted
and my life far gone

with my love bound with a lace ribbon
and my pages thin and tan,
no pictures, no sound,
(for we cannot have it all)
maybe, just maybe,
someone could read me.

--

(sorry - it's a long read, and a lot of nothing, really.)

I've just finished reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Johnathon Safran Foer, and I'm finding it incredibly hard to analyse, not because I don't understand, I do, or at least, I think I do. It's just that Oskar represents all of us in some small way, and I don't mean at all dismal, I mean it to be the children we are - we are, because there's always our smaller selves inside of us - and I just want to wrap him up within myself and never let him bruise or hurt ever again.

And saying this, I know that he is fictitious. But really, really, he's made of all the little pieces of us, our youth and our grief and the times in our lives when we wanted to bruise, because that would mean we would feel something. And the fact that he is so terribly, terribly young makes me want to hold him even more, and take all the bruises from him - the truth is, I want to take all of your bruises and hurt and make them my own. And that's why I can't stand to analyse this, not because I may begin to analyse myself, but because it is filled with grief and the characters are real; maybe not their stories, their bodies, but their tears, their loss, it's everywhere, they're everywhere - and how could I ever critique something so terribly beautiful?

And I know, that yes, this is what we do, this is what it's like for every book. But it's not; I think I relate too strongly to the characters, and yet I am so distant from those who lost loved ones in the 9/11 attacks.
so, why?
I'm sorry. My mind's a mess, and I think I need to write and think and know I will be able to reread it and try and pull it apart, gently, and not worry about everything in general, and I know I do sound crazy, I probably am, but it hurts, and it's so beautiful, and really, really, quite hopeful.

I'd like to quote some words from this text, because I think they are so superb and they fill me with emotion I am not strong enough to carry. Maybe another time, though, because I feel as though I am rambling on - which, of course, I am - but anyway, it is a brilliant book, and I do recommend it; it's just books like these make me lie awake at night, and in a good way; but they also make me write in an astonishingly awful way - I'm sorry.

I am akin to this strange little maniac with too much thoughts and not enough time.
LOVE,
x

whispers in my mind

2010-01-25T17:31:00.004+10:30

there are things so pure and full of love that my heart yearns for,
as though my whole life is a long longing
and sometimes i feel so terribly inadequate,
weighed down by the constant fear
that i could not ever create something so beautiful.

i don't want to wake up one day
and realise that soon i may very well disappear;
with nothing to leave behind in this world.
hence, my words,
this.
x

jet plane

2010-01-22T19:50:00.005+10:30

Wrote these on the plane ride home - fueled by lack of sleep and excess sugar;
please don't read too much into it, it's really vague and melancholic and all.
Not to mention how dark and twisty I get at midnight whilst a million miles in the air.
--

everyone is asleep, in dreams she hopes are beautiful,
but her, writing love upon a napkin, trying to make sense -
she feels so close to the stars, to the lost souls of the universe,
but so distant from the ones she loves, what is this feeling?
it's as though she's suddenly awoken from a colourful dream only
to discover she is all alone; with only her words among the shadows
to console her uneasy heart.

--

because my letters have all been written,
my heart has been lost between the x's and o's
and all of a sudden i am left feeling alone,
so (un)bearably alone.

--

and all of a sudden I had this heartwrenching fear
that lightning would flash before our open windows
and shatter our souls into a million beautiful stars,
leaving only our heart, our bones, our bodies;
still and lifeless; where did we go?
"and in the end, every single thing is worth it"

--

x

dream about me

2010-01-06T23:02:00.002+10:30

and the memories of her ever being here are caught
in the fiber of your clothes, the tangles in your hair,
like a flyaway glimpse into the life she never knew.

and the thoughts of her in another universe linger within this song, this melody, you could never forget;
a broken record had never been played so beautifully.

--

p.s. things are different now, and i think i may need some time
i might not post for a week or two....
try not to miss me too much (that was a poor attempt at a joke)

x

faded

2009-12-20T22:27:00.011+10:30

i'm looking for a city of dreams and dreamers,
where i won't be what i am now:
a living ghost of what once was.

fading photos of
coffee stained memories
embedded in fragile frames:
bittersweet reminders
of both what we once were
and what we are now.

i love you, i love you, i love you.

x

ghosts at midnight

2009-12-14T16:05:00.005+10:30

playing the piano at midnight
i like to watch in wonder
my fingers chase after one another
(tumbling, tumbling)
making something beautiful along the way,
it's like the words I am not ready to say
pouring out of me in notes,
never catching, no hesitation,
nothing to stop me now.

she knows some secrets
that shock her to the bone.
but maybe, she thinks,
she can turn them
into harmless
lullabies.

x

attempts

2009-12-11T00:07:00.012+10:30

sometimes, no amount of words,

no selection of syllables

can even begin to describe

the most simple things in life:

the feeling you get when holding hands and doing cartwheels underwater

the spaces between your fingers' shadows when held up against the light

the way a smile bursts into a laugh and everything is all right

the thought of being alone, always, and forever

the thought of being happy, always, and forever.

It's like a beautiful concoction of uncertain hope,
that grows and grows and grows,
and there you have it, lovely ones,
a little thing called love.
♥♥♥

( I wish that I'd find someone
whom would tell me extraordinary things,
and make my heart beat beat beat
in time with theirs. )
x

(I am feeling very corny today, enjoy!)

galaxies far away

2009-12-08T18:22:00.006+10:30

stars spilled into the sky
and silence filled the night
and we filled the silence
because that was all we could do
to keep from disappearing.

x

what is nothing?

2009-12-02T16:28:00.005+10:30

nothing.
this is the answer to a multitude of questions;
what's wrong?nothing, she says.everything, she thinks.

nothing is the sound of ambulances at night
nothing is people drifting apart and slowly forgettingnothing is the sound of goodbyes forever
nothing is broken hearts, broken souls.

nothing is anything that provokes a feeling so completely indescribable
and filled with emotion that you want to cry and cry and cry.

these things, they make up the 'nothing' of her answer.'nothing' is just a word that extends to all those things you cannot bear to name.'nothing' does not exist - there's always something, you know?
sometimes, when she is on the verge of spilling everything,filling the room with her secrets, her fears, her tears,she replaces it withnothing.
nothing, nothing at all.

--

I'm so sorry, I know I haven't been posting;
my friend has stayed over the past few nights,
it's been nice.

Thankyou again for the wonderful comments and emails.
You are all lovely creatures -
sending you vibes of love, ~VIBES~ I TELL YOU.
x

a sort of (beautiful) hopeful

2009-11-22T20:04:00.006+10:30

she lay against the door,
listening to bright eyes
on the bathroom floor.
she felt tiny and fragile,
but with the mirror filled with fog,
she could pretend to be some sort of
beautiful,
beautiful being.

"when everything is lonely
I can be my own best friend,
You're looking skinny like a model,
with your eyes all painted black."

humming along to the words,
she left her handprints upon the glass
and traced hearts upon the water;
secret love letters,
hopes and dreams
fading away with her.

"we might die from medication,
but we sure did kill all the pain,
and what was so simple in the evening
by the morning seems insane."

with her hair on the tiles,
and the lyrics of lua
filling the tiny room -
like the fog she so loved,
and as she watched it disappear,
she closed her eyes
and waited for the world to go by.

"because what is simple in the moonlight
by the morning never is:
it was so simple in the moonlight,
so simple in the moonlight."

x

[LUA - BRIGHT EYES. It's a little depressing [and by that I mean very, very depressing], but I think it's just as beautiful.]

words in my lungs

2009-11-21T12:22:00.008+10:30

summer's here
it's a mixture of sunlight and nostalgia
sharing memories and making dreams
new starts and old stories
flyaway kisses goodbye and hello.

glitter on my cheeks
seasalt in my hair
our own kind of magic
filling the wind, the air.

with our hands held, breaths held,
it's not what we expected
but it feels so familiar.
nights and days and lives
all intertwined becoming one
"we're young and in love."
--

I liked it when I was
young and ridiculous
and I'd try and catch the aeroplanes -
because through my childish perspective,
impossibilities were nonexistent.

I looked up;
they seemed so small,
my hands could have held them
and carried them along
to wherever they wanted to go.

and my fingers reaching,
not enough, never enough,
I'd catch the sky instead.
x

overwhelming

2009-11-15T15:33:00.008+10:30

overwhelming
like the feeling one gets
when she lies on her bed
with the curtains tied back
and 'hallelujah' playing
over and over

and the sun washes over her
and she closes her eyes;
every breath and beat
and every bit of her being
is filled
with memories and moments
that she had long forgotten how to remember.

over and over,
hallelujah, hallelujah,
and for once the tears
aren't accompanied
with clenched fists and bitten lips,
because for once,
she feels strong enough
to just remember.
over and over,
hallelujah, hallelujah,
she began to feel as though
in some small, yet significant way,
she could be beautiful again.

x

wishful thinking

2009-11-10T17:37:00.012+10:30

thoughts and wishes

(and here comes a feeling
you thought you'd forgotten,
so shut your eyes and hold my hand:
our hearts will whisper lullabies
and our lungs will hum a tune.)

she liked the way their fingers met
how delicate and easily broken she felt
she knew she had to try
paper thin and heavy hearted
she knew she had to fly.
(we can stay as long as you like, you know
time will change nothing
love will change everything
love will not tear us apart
love will keep us together.)

she knew not to believe these words
that tumbled out of her mouth
because of all the people she trusted,
she could not trust herself.
but she repeated them over and over
a spell with her own magic,
and then she fell, believing
perhaps this time
things would be different.

(time will change nothing
love will change everything
love will not tear us apart
love will keep us together.)

'promises were not made for breaking,'
she thought,
for they were not as breakable as she.

x

holding her together

2009-11-07T11:56:00.009+10:30

blue veins

And upon her arms
pressed against the light,
there they were:
fragile and thin and easily broken,
indescribable and all her own.

It was like the patterns she liked to find
from the cold tree branches
that once lived
outside her bedroom window,indescribable and all her own.

x

existence

2009-10-31T11:16:00.005+10:30

the air you breathe at midnight
is full of ghosts of words you have not dreamed,
forgotten memories and days and years,
regretful tears before goodbyes,
the life and love of everything and everyone.

sometimes I can feel my bones straining under the weight
of all those unspoken words I am not yet brave enough to pronounce.

x

communication lines

2009-10-21T21:04:00.005+10:30

Don't leave, just yet.
Don't exit,

exist.

we're all going to be one hundred percent

2009-10-15T22:10:00.012+10:30

"letters I may never send" #1

Dear ---,

I know that I'm not okay, and we're not okay,
but it will be okay.
I promise you, if anything, I promise you this.
It will be okay because you said you'd be home soon
and every single time you say you will,
and I believe you, I believe in you.

I'm going to hold myself together,
(all night, all day, all year, all eternity)
because nobody can quite do that for me right now,
and that's okay.

Do you know that I get so scared I'll forget your voice?
It's not the same over the phone,
because you sound so tired and lonely,
and that terrifies me to death.
And so I know you need me to be strong,
and I try and I try and I try
and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,
because everyone is falling apart right now and I just really, really, really,
need you to be the one to tell me it's going to be okay, this time.

(And know that this is a bout of hormones, as it always is - know that they really aren't as bad as I make them out to be. But I miss you - and I know you're doing this for us [the leaving constantly, nobody understands].)

and when I was younger I used to want to be an astronaut
and I'd imagine myself alone (but not lonely) in the big universe
the stars would be my only friends
and the air would be thin
the space would be vast
endless and endless
like the way my father would tell me
that I was infinite.

Sorry for such an odd post,
just know that I love you, and we are going to be okay.

dreamy rambles

2009-10-14T18:38:00.010+10:30

they do, they do, they do,
something simple and full of life and beauty
holding together strange entities.

--

It's that state of mind
before you dream the night away:
It's the fluttering of eyelids
and the cold side of the pillow.
It's those thoughts in your mind,
it's an ocean in a teacup.

And I swim and I swim and I swim,
reaching out to those edges,
the answers on my fingertips.
And then, sleep.

This is where I often drown
and sink and float and sink and float.

I think it is your soul, showing you pictures
of the life you have yet to live.

(again - forgive me: 'feeling a little hormonal and needing to channel these emotions into half-sentences')

reassurance

2009-10-07T22:15:00.005+10:30

Sorry I've not posted in so long!
I've needed time, a lot of time.

This is about the magic in a young girl's heart.
I am young, and there is magic within me, I hope.
I want to take your hand in mine and then I think we could fly away.
Not at the speed of light,
rather, I think we'd float up and up and up,
slowly and gently,
a bit like a daydream.

--

It's going to be alright,
I will smile and laugh
and cry and cry.
It's going to be alright.

x

and i'm a little scared

2009-10-03T15:42:00.011+09:30

For some reason, when people mention that we all die eventually,
I don't feel as though it applies to the ones I love, and myself.
I feel as though we are infinite,
always alive and lungs breathing and hearts beating;
simply because our love would be enough to keep us here.

In reality, I could die any minute now. You could die any minute now.
I've had only a handful of experiences with death in my life.
I feel as though death is a bit like the moon, the stars;
they are all so distant and unimaginable.
But, they are there, always there.

"I am a little shell containing tiny fragments of thoughts and ideas and emotions and love, and one day the tide will be high and a wave will shatter me into a million inconceivably tiny pieces and bring me back to the earth, back home."

In reality, love does not keep us here, on Earth.
It keeps us together, I know, I believe it keeps us always together.
Love is not limited to one world, one universe; it is immeasurable, unexplainable, like the smell before rain, the taste of one's kisses, the way you feel when you hold someone's hand. Love and death are not opposites; they are more or less constants throughout our lives.
There will always be death, and there will always be love.

We will always be together, you know.
I promise you this, with all of my heart.
I'd find you, wherever we go after this.
(whether it be on top of the clouds,
at the bottom of the ocean,
a different galaxy, a different star.)
I'd hold your hand, again.
We'll be together, again.

reverie #2

2009-09-30T20:50:00.005+09:30

On the agenda these holidays:

getting fit, ha!
finding bargains
sixteenths'
going to town, too many times
500 days of summer
movie nights
spring playlists
picnics in the park
lots and lots of (awkward) dancing.
sleepovers
sitting on celia's porch swing
playing the piano at midnight
new friends
hugs hello, and kisses goodbye
writing, lots of writing
200th post
all-nighters
taking too many (embarrassing) photos
being alive and happy
seeing everyone!

after each palpitation

2009-09-22T19:58:00.006+09:30

time
is the place where your every heartbeat goes.
(in the end you find your time,
and watch your life in beats.)

x

endless summer

2009-09-20T13:54:00.008+09:30

Summer road trips are;
Fingers drumming on the dashboard
like the heart beat of a hummingbird.
Winding down windows
when your hair presses against your lips, your eyes, your cheeks.
Silent laughter in the backseat
bare feet in the front.
Nostalgic singalongs that turns to humming
that turns to listening that turns to silence.

Never stopping;
just breathing, lots of breathing,
lots of living.

be gentle with me,

2009-09-20T13:39:00.003+09:30

gentle
like the way the sun slips into your room every morning and dances upon your eyelids.

x

the last one for a while.

2009-09-14T20:22:00.010+09:30

All of this, and the past few weeks
have brought back all the people and places that have left me.

Like running barefoot
through the grass,
going too fast, too fast.
Running along the beach,
my feet slip,
making patterns in the sand,
going too fast, too fast.

Sometimes I’ll stop and regain my balance,
deep breaths and steady hands,
but honestly,
I prefer it when the waves crash before me,and I fall into the sea’s grasp;
its salty arms
pulling me home.

I don't know the next time I will be posting,
I think I'm taking a week off.
I'm going to write more, and more.
Please, tell everyone how much you love them,
because it's not too late, it never is.

do you remember that time,

2009-09-13T21:42:00.009+09:30

"I think everyone has a certain part of their lives

where they truly wish they could freeze time.
Whether it was three years ago, today, or still to come,
whether it was just a moment, a whole day, or a whole summer.
Everyone has a time in their life
where they wish everything would just stop.
The world would stop turning,
people would stop changing;
because to them, at that time,
everything was perfect."
- Unknown.

That moment for me was the summer a few years ago.
There were laughs, so many laughs, so many smiles.
I didn't know as much, yet I was sure of so many more things;
there was gold dust in the mornings and moondust falling at night.
We learned, and laughed and loved, and nothing else changed.

There was glitter on my cheeks, and seasalt in my hair,
light in my eyes and love in my heart.

Through the grass, upon the sand,
under the sky, on top of the world,
on our small hands, and on our bare feet,
we tried to count the stars.

We were small, tiny, simple.
We were perfect.

both things beautiful

2009-09-13T21:42:00.004+09:30

"You are the sky,
I am the sea,
you are the one who colours me."

x

i am here

2009-09-07T16:24:00.002+09:30

My name is Athena,
and I am here.
I'm hoping it's enough,
even if it only lasts a moment.

x

hidden away

2009-09-05T23:03:00.005+09:30

My name is Athena,
and I often stay up late
to look for answers
even though I'm unsure of the questions being asked.
x

everything's new, and questions for you.

2009-09-03T20:22:00.009+09:30

These are the things I know for sure, right now:

I am scared a lot of the time.
I do not like sleeping alone.
I like letters.
I believe in all sorts of magic.
I only tie my shoelaces once a month.
I like being alone but I hate being lonely.
I have felt my heart beating for fifteen years.
I lovelovelovelove you.

I've been reading all your lovely blogs,
and I want you to know that it makes me smile
that the majority of you are having a great time, wherever you are.

question. what do you want to ask me? what do you want to read on this blog?

All my love,

bicycles and breathing

2009-09-02T19:35:00.008+09:30

It's like that time too long ago, when you were learning to ride your bicycle.
Your father took you down to the park where the trees were filled with wisdom,
the daunting endless world stretched out so far and wide
and the sky was everblue,
and he told you to take your time and just breathe,
because that was the trick,
just keep breathing.

He said he'd hold on to you, and not ever let you go,
yet you knew he would,
(because he was a dreamer,
and dreamers often lie,)
but you nodded anyway.

And then you were riding, free and fast,
the wind was catching and your legs were spinning.
Faster and faster, you were riding in dreams,
you flew with ease and fell on lies.

a series of ramblings

2009-08-29T20:15:00.003+09:30

I wish that my thoughts and words
would not cease at the tip of my tongue.
They stick in my throat,
like the way my fingers knot in my hair
after a windy day:
tangled and hesitant.

x

come back, come back to me.

2009-08-26T20:22:00.013+09:30

I wish that nostalgia
would fade after a while,
instead of lingering for days on end:
within the voice that shakes and shivers,
between the shadows of my fingers,
upon the cold side of the pillow,
running in the veins beneath my skin,
it's like the smell before the rain.

euphoria; ghosts

x

(My name is Athena,
and this is me attempting to channel emotions into words.
Don't take me too seriously, I am but a newly turned 15 year old
with a license to... publish online. (Was that anti-climatic or what?)
I probably love you, don't stress xxxxxxx)