{ and we'll play summer on repeat;

♥ precious.

la bella vita;

Cara

loves: black and white photography. poetry. vintage stores. thunderstorms. good ambience. fairytales. disneyworld. black kohl and fuschia lipstick. red and purple skittles. turquoise beads. icing but not cakes. might-have-beens. the dandy warhols. within temptation. automatic loveletter. mediaeval baebes. troy. interview with a vampire. the oc. making 11:11 wishes. purple glitter. mermaids. my-little-ponies. magic.

expertise: melodramaticks. eyeliner. laughing. goodbyes. hanging in there.

♥ music on, world off.

shh.

♥ scream(?).

live.

Bad id: "girlbythewindow"
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Talkflooble chatterbox, a free javascript chat tag board / shoutbox / tagboard program for your xanga, diary, blogger or weblogBlackjack Guide

♥ past .

instant time travel

December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010

♥ adieu .

set them free

AMANDA
ANDRE
ASH
DEB
ELEMM
07IP04!
08IP04!
JOSH
KAT
LISA
QIU
RENJEAN

♥ credits .

thankyouverymuch

Designer: 01 02
Image: 03
Hosts: 04 05 06
Brushes: 07 08 09 10
Fonts: 11

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Monday, January 25, 2010

hello, old friend. 5:16 AM

"and so I go, into the great Perhaps"

----

There are many kinds of love in the world.

And when you find that one is not for you; you learn to lean- gently, tentatively- on the others.

This love is good.

God has given me beautiful, beautiful friends. You know who you are- thank you, all of you, for your warmth and support and the tender hands you're using to hold me up.

Last night was horrible. I gave up the one thing I had tried to hold onto, and then and only then did they take me, crying softly shoulders shaking, into their bed.

I don't know whether to feel comforted or repulsed.

And yet with all the drifting loneliness, the sudden, occasional rushing of air from my ribcage and the currents behind empty lids

there is a sad, sweet sense of relief.

At least the way now is clear.

I would have fought every inch of the thorny road,

but at least now the way is clear, and that is a small mercy.

You can breathe again. I don't want you to hurt any more.

Who knows where we stand, in our Book of Days?

Maybe One Day. Maybe never. Maybe Neverland. Maybe Everland, maybe Evermore.

You and I know we loved.

And that is all that needs to be written.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

hello, old friend. 5:33 AM

I'm not used to the awkward silences.

The way his eyes grow cold around me, then sad, then cold again.

I'm not used to not curling up on his pillow at night, and talking like a seven year old about my day.

I'm not used to not being grumbled at for kissing his shoulder when we hug, just because it's just the right height for being kissed.

I'm not used to not being his favourite, even though he tries to hide it and pretend he doesn't play favourites.

I'm not used to swinging one languid thigh from my chair and glancing at him from the sides of my eyes, like what we're talking about doesn't hurt.

...But I've chosen where I stand.

And it's not his1 side, or his2 side.

It's my side. And this stand is all the things I should have said a long time ago.

Tantrums don't work, and screaming doesn't work. Noise is overrated, so I'm going to stand here in my metaphorical wheatfield and be silent and look up at the sky with quiet eyes. fall asleep with flowers in my hands.

electric gingerheaded boy, last night: "...nothing lasts. and the truth of that devastates me."

on the plus side, i had purple icecream today.

and my friends made me laugh.

and yesterday i wrote a song about a mermaid and a man, and it was good.

Monday, January 18, 2010

hello, old friend. 7:07 AM

But in the garden of simple where all of us are nameless you were never anything but beautiful to me/

and, you know, they never really owned you./

You just carried them around/

and then one day you put 'em down/

and found your hands were free.

---

It is 11:11 and I'm wondering if wishes count as prayers.

Does God answer them? Or do they all go to the Tooth Fairy? Or Santa Claus? Britain's all snowed out, so there's no way the North Pole's gonna be getting any reception.

Thank you for the awfullychocolate today, DWL. And the letters, and the presents. I love you guys!

I don't care if eighteen doesn't feel like eighteen; at least I've got good love.

Whitby, pushing for answers: So... (scritches away on whiteboard)...MAN created MACHINE. And what does MACHINE create that MAN needs? MAN needs.....?

Class: ...

Whitby: Oh come on, you lot.

Class: ....

Whitby, getting desperate: It starts with a T.

Lisa: Uh.

Cara: Uh.

Whitby, getting reaaaally desperate: "...T....One syllable. T..."

Lisa, tentatively: ..T..in?

Cara, tentatively: ...Toys?

Whitby: *headdesk*

Am currently: working on a SEA History essay outline, catching up with an old friend, drinking hot, sweet tea and listening to the velvet underground. Altogether bearable. If I keep living like this, one day by one day; I AM going to survive this year, dammit.

And on the note of survival- congratulations on making it to 18, Lis. :D

I've already written you a longass letter, so. I'll keep this short, but you know I love you.

I wrote a song, today, and I'm glad. It's been ages since I've been able to write anything...though I'm starting to doubt the use of "writer" as a title, seeing as how my pen only ever moves properly when I've got museblood in my veins. So maybe the term "mouthpiece" would be better.

Mouthpiece to what?

...I don't know. But I kinda wish whatever it was would talk a bit more. I've missed writing.

This is a short, choppy little entry- but hey- it's a start.

...Baby steps. To this. To everything. To now.

Here we go.