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.
blued veins.such a pretty boy [he's beautiful], but amongst all that prettiness, he doesn't understand. so fragile. just a brittle frame. translucent, as he stood by the window. she hovers behind, unwilling to break him further.blued veins. by electrickiss
"you never told me why."
she waits for more.
"i don't understand. how can you think it's right for you when it's hurt you so much?"
he's not done.
"i walked away from you, so you'll never walk away from me. i couldn't imagine the hurt i gave you."
veins on his clenched wrists look so blue [like his eyes]. as she stays quiet, she examined his profile. how can something so painstakingly beautiful look so pained at the same time?
"i was only in pain because you were."
he flinched, and the falling sun cast shadows from his lashes to his sunken cheeks [so pained].
"i can handle the fall of humanity, fall of unity, but i can't handle the fall of you."
a tiny crystalline drop raced towards the floor [it's a mistake]. she lost sight of his being for a second. she
SparksI closed my eyes today.Sparks by cherrichan13
I closed my eyes and there you were, smiling for once in your life. I gasped- because damn, boy, my heart's on fire, and I don't think you can douse it with just a little of your cold heart logic.
I closed my fist today.
I closed my fist, ready to slam it into your scarred chest, but you grabbed my wrist and I made the mistake of looking into your eyes. Forget butterflies. My heart dropped like a bowling ball into my stomach and somehow made it all the way back up again.
I closed my ribcage today.
My bones slammed shut and my lungs expanded, effectively blocking off any chance of escape. My heart is all locked up, safely away from you. But I'm not sure how to let it out again, because somehow you ended up with the key, and I want it back.
Once upon a time I dreamed of adventure, of fast-turning pages and rocker-style parties with too much percussion and roller coasters twenty feet higher than I ever let my dreams soar. But now I only dream of you, boy, and I rea
^ 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!