Pretending.

At night I used to look up at the sky. Sometimes the moon would be out, and would be so luminescent that I would wonder if God had spent all afternoon polishing it up just for me. It's pureness and whiteness made me blink and look away. It's beautiful the way a mere reflection could be so powerful. On nights when I was looking at the moon I'd sometimes imagine the sky was a big black dome of construction paper. And somehow, someone up there had made a roundish, crescent-shape hole in the paper. That was the moon. Through the hole was Heaven's white brightish glory, peeping through the sky just a little bit.

And if I pretended that, I could suddenly behold a tiny taste of something eternal.

Too pure for the world to touch.

Mild Juncture

So I've got this thing where I can't write unless I read. It's like I have to fill up my word tank so that I can then spew my own syllables for you to interpret. Unfortunately, I don't read much these days. Which is kind of a character flaw of mine, and I'm not proud of it.
That said, I am happily devouring To Kill a Mockingbird. Guys. This. Book. I know it's cheesy to gush over a renown classic as if I'm the first one in to pick it up off of the shelf and crack it open...but still, I feel the need to express my love for such a legacy in literature.
With that said, life been accompanied by my constant grumblings about the math and history I have yet to complete. I hate the way general work and responsibility saps at you until you feel too weak to do anything but lull out on the carpet alongside a pile of dirty clothes and feel sorry for yourself.

 Anyway.

Apart from the grumbling and dirty clothes, I've been having various calendar events to dance my way through, including graduations, gatherings, and pool parties. The kind that you need to remember to take your phone out of your pocket for.

Sometimes instead of recording my thoughts and peculiarities from my head onto my blog I wish that I could just hook a cable to my brain and download my memories into neat little folders that could be arranged inside of my PC. Instead I have to work up the motivations to decrypt my own thought process and word it into a legible form of storytelling.

I have California plans.
Which sounds vague and mysterious and exciting, but it really just means that I'm going to build houses for people on the west coast. Also, there is a 72% chance of a death-by-being-devoured-by-a-Kracken during my oceanic seaside surfing ventures soon to come.

Apart from these assorted excitements, I have little else to inform you, my dear Internet void.

I sleep late, I think long, and I watch as my little piece of reality morphs and changes in the way it was always meant to.

     until another writerly kick in the pants,
         Kismint

Lead & Paper

Doodly-dooing.

If I sit in the dark long enough, will my thoughts be personified by shade and shadow? Will they crawl up the walls like manic creepy crawlies, invading my forsaken homestead and overpowering whatever sanity took place beforehand? Do my thoughts deserve a heart beat? Will they breath on their own?

 

I am a precious kind of ordinary.

Meeting Again

Summer, you've reminded me how to love.

I'm falling for the way sunlight still tickles my eyeballs at 7:00 PM. I hold an absurd affection for the hot pool deck against my worn little feet. And I'm enchanted by your budding promises of ice cream sundaes and water balloon fights.

Yes, Summer, I'm welcoming you. And I hope you're excited to see me, too. I'll bet that you have plenty of new growing experiances in store for me, and I can't help but be a little nervous about them.

And when the sun begins to set earlier, the weather begins to chill, and Starbucks returns to their season of pumpkin spice lattes, I'll look back on the memories we made together, and you'll kiss me a warm goodbye, bidding farewell until your next return.

Oh Summer, I can't wait.
We've got a lot to catch up on.