And then I saw your face.
And then I saw your face.
summertime.i've realized i miss you most in the summer. when we were together, we belonged to the cold; trees would lose their leaves, winter winds would blow, but the summer was ours. it was a time when we could leave essays and exams behind and start dreaming. a time for stargazing and raindancing and treeclimbing. for the wild. for us.summertime. by jonathoncomfortreed
i feel so out of place. in the light of a bonfire or the wind of a highway, i find myself thinking: you would have loved this. and i get lost in memories of running through a subway station, reaching for lights across the dark ocean or swinging by a lake and dangling our feet in the stars.
this has always been a season of early sunrises and fast-moving clouds. of picking strawberries and meeting strangers. i thought june would last forever.
but it's august. and back then, whenever i drove home at midnight or walked across the city at dawn, you were by my side. you feel far away from me, and listening to your music doesn't bring you any closer. i mi
With a camera in my hands;
I love photography, and I always have. I strive to capture that "moment" and keep it forever.
And a pen behind my ear;
I'm a writer, focusing on short stories and poetry; I love to convey emotion with words.
A laptop in my bag;
I do a lot of experimentation with digital art and other technology. I like to learn new things.
And imagination in my heart.
Artistic expression comes to me like breathing. I couldn't live without it.
Art means a lot more to me than people think.
It's that reminder that there's something more. Something worth living for.
Something worth dreaming about.
There's only us.
A La Douce MemoireTo explain: Dear _______A La Douce Memoire by UnspecifiedUnknown
broken calligraphy drawn with wrinkled, wise fingers
across thousands of charcoaled and
frayed telephone lines, our science:
telltale tree-house stories
of success over cups of unstirred, bleak
chai lattes. Sparkles glittering behind blue-eyed metaphors
and a casualty of chance. Collateral damage.
She will be
his sodden breath, soaked between
years and earth and birds and gravity and
gravestones-- the chemistry behind
the existence of God.
À la douce mémoire.
Give It Back? Never.My favorite game has always been ours. The one with the unspoken rules.Give It Back? Never. by cherrichan13
We used to play it every day. And I remember it perfectly. I still think back on it and smile.
"Oh, hello, Martha!" my mother called cheerfully, waving. I looked up from the pile of dirt I was inspecting and groaned loudly. Martha had brought along her daughter. Annie was seven years old, like me, but she was a girl. "Hello, Annie." My mother beamed down at her. "Zach's over there if you want to play."
She came running towards me.
I jutted my chin out defiantly. What do I need her here for? I'm more than capable of playing by myself!
^ Deal with it. ;]
Offering critiques —
— for anyone needing constructive feedback on their artwork. I love to help out any artists in need of advice and ideas, so here is your chance! Just ask.
Send a note or just leave a comment on my profile!