blank space.

it starts with a change.

it always starts with a change. a shift in the scenery, a shift in dynamics, a shift in something. a change. always a change.

"i'm sorry" is an excellent catalyst. "i didn't mean it like that" is almost as good. and "it's all my fault" is a stellar way to start.

in my case, it's an "i'm sorry" that pushes the play button on my series of unfortunate events. i've liked him since two years ago, and that on again, off again crush has pushed me forward and pulled me through trying times. nearly kissing him on the porch, leaning into him a little too hard on the bus, asking him to hang out... those have been subtle moves towards the direction of "resolve this dissonance." because in my eyes, we are all notes on a staff, with problems waiting to be solved. fouled notes waiting to reach our full consonant glory. we are always looking towards that triumphant octave, third, or fifth. but sometimes it takes us a bit longer to get there.

my friend chooses to celebrate my crush's birthday, as he rightfully should. "table for six," he says into his cellphone, and i feel a piece of me break off and fall onto the floor of the apartment, bloody and wine-stained. "oh, jill isn't coming, but mac is taking her place since he's in town." why wasn't i asked to this dinner? why wasn't i asked to make my crush's birthday a full event?

the same reason why he hasn't responded to the text i sent him on tuesday.

the world is changing. it's always changing. for us, our worlds are shifting, almost as quickly as we're travelling through space. in the moment, the earth seems stationary, but in reality we're throttling our way through the milky way at astronomical speeds. and maybe, someday, i'll accept that i'm moving at such breakneck speeds to justify not stopping for something small, rare, and beautiful. but today is not that day.

coming full circle./shorted.

it's interesting to see how this blog was started at the beginning of the end of my high school career for a writing class. now, i'm reviving it for the beginning of the end of my college career. funny how things come full circle.

it's hard for me to not burst into tears in the darkness on my way home, the winter cold nipping at my cheek like an overenergetic golden retriever.

thoughts on character arcs.

i'm addicted to scandal, it's official. every character is so amazingly well crafted, and it's so interesting to watch each and every one start off so perfect and put together. it's even better to watch them spiral out of control, and to grow. it's this process of spinning apart and slowly recovering into a new being that is so important to storytelling, it's what we crave when we read stories. it's the human news--we want to see change, we want to read about it, even though it's not necessarily something that we ourselves want to do.

words without: green.

it is the overwhelming sweetness of a kiwi, the taste punching your tongue in sour, sugary jabs, soft background against the crunch of seeds. it's the smell of grass after it's been freshly cut, the sound of leaves waving in the spring breeze. it's the feeling of moss against your fingertips, the blooming feeling of sickness you have right before you throw up. it's the smell of the earth after rain, feeling of an unfamiliar stranger kissing their way across your chest. it is the sound of crickets, the way that snakes move, bridging the yawning gap between solid and liquid. it is the smell of old houses, the way my father moves in the morning, the sound of a newborn baby's cry. it is the lazy gurgle of a slough, and the crack of wood as a tree begins its slow journey towards death. it is life, and it is death, and it is everything in between.

words without: yellow.

it's the smack-smack of soda bubbles against your lips, the cheeky way that lemons make your lips pucker together in a bastardization of a kiss, the way that your fingers feel against my skin. it's the way my breath tastes in the morning, sulfurous and capable of slaughtering entire countries. it's the feeling of a dandelion tickling its way across your skin, the way that your eyelashes feel in the morning against my neck, like tiny stars that dance back and forth at my nape. it's the sour taste of morning-after alcohol in your mouth, the aftertaste coloring everything with a sort of unpleasant coat until something takes it away, like the minty touch of toothpaste. it's the way the sun feels against the sky, the way the sun feels against your skin, when it walks its careful fingers across your chest and holds you in a careful embrace. it's the feeling after you say something that gets everyone laughing, it's the sense you get when someone says they're proud of you, it's the way that it feels to be wanted.

words without: orange.

it's the way fire feels on your skin as it traces it lovingly with its fingers, the same way that the sun feels when it kisses your cheek when you've stretched out on the beach. it's the way that citrus splashes on your tongue, the taste of the air when autumn comes and the leaves dress in their finest and fall to the ground. it's the way satisfactory tastes, and the texture of the rinds of pumpkins. it's the pop of sunflower seeds in your mouth, the sharpness of cheddar, the glistening feel of the peel of a grapefruit.

words without: red.

it is the way that apples taste, the way that strawberries dance across your tongue. it's the feeling of the heat across your skin when you're embarrassed, or when it's gorgeous outside and the sun has done a little more than just kiss you. it is the smell of blood, and the feel of lips. it is the soft velvet of a rose petal, the words that leave your mouth when you tell that special someone that you love them. it's that feeling that whispers its way across your skin when he kisses you. it's the way that your hands fit with hers, the way that his fingers interlock with yours. it's the smell of chili and chili peppers, the start of the ignition in your mouth when you crunch through a habanero pepper. it's the curve of tomatoes, and the sound of your beating heart.

revisiting: words without words.

i actually can't remember the context for that last post that i made. i think it's coming back to me very faintly, but i can't really remember the circumstances which makes me a little sad.

anyway, i think i want to restart writing again. i want to write short pieces about words without using the word ever. there's something like this floating around on tumblr, which was my main inspiration. i think i'll start with colors for now...

truths; burning.

you never realize that you’re driving a stake through the middle of a friendship until it collapses suddenly and gives way, leaving a yawning chasm between the two of you that cannot be crossed because you never planned for this; all the wood for the bridge was on your friend’s side. you cry, you mope, you gesticulate, you apologize, you scream—anything to try and get your friend to try and send you some wood, for your friend to try and start building a bridge, but there’s nothing. you don’t see anything happen from their side. and so you try and do something to make a bridge on your end, but no matter how hard you try, it just won’t stay. the soil is too soft in one place, the material isn’t sturdy enough, the wind’s too strong. either way, as the days tick along, the amount of effort that you put in to building this bridge goes down, dwindling into the negative numbers as you start to uproot all bridge-making material and just throwing it off of your island, burning it, eating it, whatever. anything to get rid of it. and you can’t really remember why you wanted to build a bridge in the first place, because it was your friend who delivered the final blow to the stake that split the friendship right? after all, it wasn’t your fault. it couldn’t have been your fault. because who does things to themselves that are deliberately bad?

muse: lights.

muse:

muse: amused no longer.

this was inspired by a picture of an abandoned amusement park. so this is more a scenery-porn piece than a muse, whoops.

muse:

muse:wide awake

well, it's been awhile since i've been on here. i should write more, i really should. whoops.

muse:
i really don't mean to stay awake so late at night every night. i really don't.

muse:american football?

what is this even. umm... have fun?

muse:visibility, zero.

muse:
i close the door with a soft click, and then descend my staircase.

muse:doorways, and not going through them.

based off of this picture.

muse:i do/not.

this really has been lurking around in my head for far too long. i think it maybe has died up there and left this rotting corpse behind.

ideas, the second.

sorry, college life gets to me sometimes.
more ideas for stories!

• character is invited to a wedding for an old flame
• posthumous letters

muse:apples in the office.

this is just a random piece that came to me while listening to one of my coworkers eat an apple at his desk.

pss:memories amid cornfields.

my workings, and hellatus.

whoops, sorry. i haven't posted here in about a zillion years.