<--CSUF. Fresh&Fly. California.----------- --Currently on a European exploration-->
Forever passionate. I'm just a young girl with a serious case of the wanderlust trying to master the balance between the wild and the rational. I live by simple rules: Keep an open mind, don't let plans get in the way of experience, and choose your own happiness.
Lonely, I understand. That was a feeling so enriched in my being it would never go away. There would always be that ounce of loneliness, the bit of feeling that nobody could ever love you. I’d never known my parents, and therefore never knew love. That’s who teaches you it. When your mother first holds you in her arms, that first moment, is the greatest love a human could ever experience. When your father guides you at a young age, when your parents watch you grow up. They teach you love is unconditional, no matter what you spilled or broke, they were still there to tuck you in at night. Unless your mom dies giving birth to you and your dad gets hit by a semi on the way to the hospital. Then you just grow up bitter, because clearly even God didn’t want to protect the only two people in the universe that were left to care a baby brought into a screwed up family.
Now here I am, 25 years old and this boy is sitting here telling me he loves me. He LOVES me. That’s the first time I ever heard that before. I mean, teachers used to say they loved our class. People used to pass pamphlets out on the street saying somebody cared. Nobody did. Nobody had ever loved me, me for me and not because I was an orphan or poor or a fuck-up. I never believed anyone. But I believed him. I believed him because he actually held my hand, because he held the door open for me, because he bought me dinner every time we went out, because he listened to me rant and cry for hours - and because he’d promised to wait until I was ready for the next step. I was ready. I was ready because I finally felt what I had need to feel, been waiting to feel, for my entire life - like somebody actually cared.
"I thought you loved me." She muttered, under her breath. But no, that wasn’t true. She just thought he had cared. She thought he had at least an ounce inside him that wanted to love her, that knew the potential for love was there. Is that not what we all hope for? The first date, one drunken kiss, a glance across the room. Something. We always, despite what our bodies overpower or our mind despises, have that tiny piece in our heart that says - maybe. Maybe there is a fleeting small possibility that this moment, this very moment, could be the one that starts the series. That it always did. It always started a series, just not always the genre we wanted.
It’s so weird having been involved in something and then suddenly it just being gone from your life - but it’s even more weird having to return to it. It’s only been a semester away but feels like a lifetime (because just so much has happened). The reality has still not set in that I have to come back to campus in Spring.
Last week I shot a roll of film that I’d got free with a second hand camera. When I got back the scans I found out that the roll had already been used by the guy who gave me it and so I had double exposed it. By chance, both of us had taken a photo of a motorway landscape and this was made. His photo is from the inside of the car looking at countryside and my shot of an urban motorway is best seen on the left hand side.
"Now it’s raining, so I kill another cigarette. The cold accompanies me, as I’m reaching towards a quicker death. Day dreaming thinking bout my mental debt. Carefully calculating steps Because I know the gravels wet Counting rain drops At the expense Of letting out my breath It’s sprinkling on my neck At best ill find company And maybe we can talk Politics and metaphysics That’s as good as it gets I’m hoping No one else roams where I tend to tread It’s my getaway This cement is my lonely bed With each each step I reach out Leaving the past where it rests With no intentions of the future I reside as the present
This speaks volumes and what really stood out about this photo was my reflection in the windows is blocked by the strip of framing for the window. If you look closely you can see my red sleeve peaking out. Taken in Florence, Italy.
On Thanksgiving we bought a 3€ Christmas tree and some lights from the Chinese store, put them into a fort in the corner of the room, made hot chocolate and watched movies/shows for the rest of the weekend. Elf, Bad Santa, Hey Arnold’s Christmas, Harold and Kumar Christmas. The start to the holiday season, broke college study abroad student ending their semester in Italy style.
The sound of the pouring rain drowns out the city noises. Normally the sounds of cars constantly passing is an annoyance, but when covered with the splashes of puddles and muffled by the rush of the downpour it just blends into nature’s perfect music. Peppermint tea, one to warm my body and my heart to the upcoming season. That first hint of cheer, a familiar taste returning for it’s annual fling with my evening routine.