Monday, February 27, 2012

and we lit the sky with hundreds of lights.

i've become a little obsessed with white christmas lights and tulle lately...

the whole thing just looks so dreamy and romantic.

as of a couple days ago, i ordered a strand for myself online. i could never seem to find some with a white cord rather than dark green for some reason...

pictures to come.

 links here and here

Sunday, February 26, 2012

[colors] series - bright green.

all they know is that the train is going west.

"seattle, san fransisco, los angeles...where are we going?" she said as she pores over the map.

he leans over and kisses her, whispering in her ear, "it doesn't matter."

and as she looks outside into the [bright green] blur, she too realizes that it is not the destination... 

rather, it is the journey and all that matters is that they are together.


more on the [colors] series - original post and other entries

Saturday, February 25, 2012

an abundance of quotes.

"i want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. but i am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. there will be no floating away." - khaled hosseini, the kite runner


“memory is a tenuous thing. . . .

flickering glimpses, blue
and white, like ancient,
decomposing 16mm film.
happiness escapes
me there, where faces
are vague and yesterday
seems to come tied
up in ribbons of pain.

happiness? i look for it instead
in today, where memory
is something i can still
touch, still rely on.
i find it in the smiles
of new friends, the hope
blossoming inside.

my happiest memories
have no place in the
past; they are those
i have yet to create.” 

- ellen hopkins, impulse 


"and above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. those who don’t believe in magic will never find it."- roald dahl


"he closed his eyes and sank into the warm dusk that separates consciousness and sleep, where reality bends and sways to the wind of thought, and where creativity blossoms in its freedom from boundaries and all things are possible." - christopher paolini


 "if you’ve ever had that feeling of loneliness, of being an outsider, it never quite leaves you. you can be happy or successful or whatever, but that thing still stays within you." - tim burton

Sunday, February 19, 2012

we are not afraid to dream - polyvore.

here is a link to the actual look.

sunrise - [a poem].

you wait in the silence of the early morning
for the sunrise.
for the sky to be painted a symphony of color,
ribbons of brilliant god, rich purple, ravishing red,
as the first glimmer of light slips over the horizon,
you savor the memories of yesterday and weeks and years past,
a lifetime of sunrises condensed into one moment.  
you fear for a second
that it cannot possibly be more spectacular than yesterday's.
but it is better.
it exceeds anything and everything you could've ever remembered,
you are left breathless in these seconds of
pure enchantment.
but soon the spectacle has passed,
and you can do nothing but wait for tomorrow
for another breath of magic. 

photography by me.

[colors] series - pale grey.

i met a very nice woman on my walk today.

she seemed rather lonely, or perhaps she just wasn't having a good day.

she wore a [pale grey] dress that complimented her skin beautifully, although she was looking rather pasty so i suggested she get out into the sun more. 

but let me tell you, she was a good listener and she had a killer poker face.

didn't talk much, though.


more on the [colors] series - original post and other entries

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

imperfect gemstones.

every piece is different, each with it's own unique flaws - a hairline crack, a jagged edge, but that's part of what makes them so beautiful.

photography by me. 

Sunday, February 12, 2012

[colors] series - red.

there were not many people in the park other than him due to the cold weather - that is, other than the girl in the [red] coat.

"excuse me, i was wondering if you'd seen a book around here, leaves of grass, as i seem to have misplaced it," she said.

he smiled sheepishly and held up the battered paperback he was reading, explaining that he intended to try and find its owner.

she laughed and took the book back - he expected her to leave then, but instead she sat down beside him and they spent a delightful half an hour discussing favorite poets and local bookstores.

it was not until the girl had vanished that he realized she had forgotten her coat. 


more on the [colors] series - original post and other entries

Wednesday, February 08, 2012


alphonse de lamartine

Salut! bois couronnés d'un reste de verdure!
Feuillages jaunissants sur les gazons épars!
Salut, dernier beaux jours! le deuil de la nature
Convient à la douleur et plaît à mes regards! 

Je suis d'un pas rêveur le sentier solitaire,
J'aime à revoir encor, pour la dernière fois,
Ce soleil pâlissant, dont la faible lumière
Perce à peine à mes pieds l'obscurité des bois! 

Oui, dans ces jours d'automne où la nature expire,
A ses regards voilés je trouve plus d'attraits,
C'est l'adieu d'un ami, c'est le dernier sourire
Des lèvres que la mort va fermer pour jamais! 

Ainsi prêt à quitter l'horizon de la vie,
Pleurant de mes longs jours l'espoir évanoui,
Je me retourne encore, et d'un regard d'envi
Je contemple ses biens dont je n'ai pas joui! 

Terre, soleil, vallons, belle et douce nature,
Je vous dois une larme, aux bords de mon tombeau;
L'air est si parfumé! La lumière est si pure!
Aux regards d'un mourant le soleil est si beau! 

Je voudrais maintenant vider jusqu'à la lie
Ce calice mêlé de nectar et de fiel!
Au fond de cette coupe où je buvais la vie,
Peut-être restait-il une goutte de miel? 

Peut-être l'avenir me gardait-il encore
Un retour de bonheur dont l'espoir est perdu?
Peut-être dans la foule, une âme que j'ignore
Aurait compris mon âme et m'aurait répondu? 

La fleur tombe en livrant ses parfums au zéphyr,
A la vie, au soleil, ce sont là ses adieux;
Moi, je meurs; et mon âme, au moment qu'elle expire,
S'exhale comme un son triste et mélodieux.

smells like sand and surf.

photography by me.

Sunday, February 05, 2012

[colors] series - gold.

i have a miniature gilded circus in my room with brilliant blue and [gold] striped tents filled with graceful acrobats and juggling clowns and roaring lions all frozen in a moment in time. 

i could spend hours marveling at the intricately painted ringmaster and grand ferris wheel but the best part of my circus is that it comes to life at night. 

as the clock strikes twelve, something inexplicably magical occurs and tiny figurines that were lifeless only mere seconds ago suddenly spring into action. 

all through the night, i watch as carousel horses in cream and [gold] and teal barely bigger than my palm gallop around my room and as the trapeze artists glide through the air and tightrope walkers balance on mere threads.

but at some point in the early hours of the day, i succumb to sleep and i awake in the morning to find that the circus performers have returned to their inanimate poses for a day, causing a surge of disappointment that can only be lightened by the fact that it will all happen again at midnight.


more on the [colors] series - original post and other entries

Saturday, February 04, 2012


“twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. so throw off the bowlines. sail away from the safe harbor. catch the trade winds in your sails. explore. dream. discover.” ~ mark twain

photography by me.

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

lovers on a park bench.

by samuel m. johnson.

Two lovers sat on a park bench, with their bodies touching each other, holding hands in the moonlight.
There was silence between them. So profound was their love for each other, they needed no words to express it. And so they sat in silence, on a park bench, with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight.

Finally she spoke. "Do you love me, John?" she asked. "You know I love you, darling," he replied. "I love you more than tongue can tell. You are the light of my life, my sun, moon and stars. You are my everything. Without you I have no reason for being."

Again there was silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench, their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. Once more she spoke. "How much do you love me, John?" she asked. He answered: "How much do I love you? Count the stars in the sky. Measure the waters of the oceans with a teaspoon. Number the grains of sand on the sea shore."

"Impossible, you say? Yes, and it is just as impossible for me to say how much I love you. My love for you is higher than the heavens, deeper than Hades, and broader than the earth. It has no limits, no bounds. Everything must have an ending except my love for you."

There was more of silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight.

Once more her voice was heard. "Kiss me, John," she implored. And leaning over, he pressed his lips warmly to hers in fervent osculation.

some people collect stamps.

others coins, possibly dolls, comic books, or seashells.

but not me. i collect memories. hundreds upon hundreds of photographs, piles and boxes of moments, frozen and immortalized.

people do not understand why i have so many or why i refuse to throw any away.

it is because i cannot bear to forget.

they tell me the alzheimer's runs in the family. agonizing does not even begin to describe how it felt to watch helplessly as dad slipped away right before my eyes, every day losing a little more of himself.

i cannot help but think of him tonight on my sixtieth birthday. he was only fifty-eight. but he is still here in my glossy four by six memories.

and the reason i choose to surround myself with memories past is because i am scared to lose anyone else.

but even more than that, i am scared to lose myself.