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.
And Going UpI loveAnd Going Up by cherrichan13
Saturdays. The summer breeze. Sleeping in. The first snowflake. The satisfying crunch of icy snow underfoot. Shooting stars, 11:11, eyelashes. One last chance. Polka dots. The last piece of cake. The night life, too-loud music, too much oxygen. Lunch dates. A brand new book, never opened. Christmas lights.
Three square meals a day. Sixty minutes of exercise. Relaxation. Sneakers without holes in them. Time. That first cup of coffee in the morning. Conversation, determination, innovation. Heartfelt repercussions.
Something different than you.
A bigger apartment. A dog. Eyeliner. Long car rides, starry night skies, romance. A cliché. Reliable service. Faith. Connections, perseverance, success. The hottest new thing. Memories, photographs, grandpa's knotted old Irish sweater. A new coat of paint, a mirror without a crack.
Still Freshmen After AllI hope you read this someday.Still Freshmen After All by cherrichan13
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not even this year. I want you to read this 30 years from now, when you're broken and sobbing and kicking yourself for making such a stupid decision. I want you to go up to your attic, dust this off, and remember.
I want you to remember me for who I really was. Not the fun, crazy girl who spent her time trying to convince others that she was okay, that she didn't care what everyone else thought. I want you to remember how she was always looking down when she walked, how she was always so guarded with her words and, for such a long time, only wanted to share them with you. You, who could be found at the center of every single one of her words.
Thirty years from now, her words may still be about you, on occasion. They'll be words of fondness, love, and a touch of the regret that plagues her now.
Because if she had changed just one minute all those years ago, her world would have become a different place.
So, she wants to
^ Deal with it. ;]
If you ask me, art is about a whole lot more than dropping into a gallery every now and then or downloading retro desktop wallpapers for your laptop. It’s about falling in love and falling apart. Creating and believing. It’s about your heart beating in your chest and maybe your eyes getting a little wet.
I love it all. Vintage photography and lomo editing. Typography. Classic literature. Philharmonic orchestra. Ballet and breakdancing. Graffiti. Watercolour and oil painting.
I don’t really think of myself as an artist. Just another human being a little lost in the world.
WanderingHere and ProvenParadox
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!