Mon voyage à France

From my photoshoot with Laura in May. More on flickr!

hold on.

slowly changing, like the seasons. like feelings or thoughts bottled up inside.  those unspoken words travelled slowly through my mind.  they felt so familiar, as though they had been a part of me for so long.  some of them escaped through the void that was my mouth, uncontrollably. 

time is of essence.

In the last few days I've caught a glimpse of what my life is going to look like, the shape it is beginning to take; its composition from the next year onwards. All those years, thoughts and images seem so distant now... it's all beginning to feel so real. We think about it all the time, we all know it's coming, but we're never completely ready for it. Time has slipped through my fingers and all I'm left with is the future. Those will be the roads I'll walk and travel along, those will be the people I will see daily, the places that will surround me in my day-to-day comings and goings. This is it. This is where it goes from here. And yet we all still seem to want to grasp on to what is left from this era, this time which is coming to and end. The small essence of the time which we are in that has not yet become what will be. We all want to grow up, move on, take a few steps on our own and see where life takes us. Still, will the grass always be greener on the other side? 

she walked slowly, touching only slightly with her fingertips the plants that surrounded her. the flowers in her hair left a slight scent of summer and blossom trailing behind her as she moved. the orangey-yellow light flooded her face as she looked up. her quiet hums faded among the sounds created by nature; birds, crickets, the rustle of leaves and the sweeps her dress made, became one. her bare feet brushed against the plant stalks, her toes and the flowers intertwining. the warm, musty smell of summer evenings hovered over her. 

I guess that's how it goes, doesn't it? You really think everything's getting better, and the next moment something else plummets you to the ground. Hard, cold and hurtful. And all those memories, where do they go then? Do they fall to the ground with you? Or do they stay up where you were before, so that when you get back up there and build some more, you fall back down without them? It always happens like this. Something starts to go right, but bad news comes running back to greet you again, and knock you over each and every time a tiny ray of hope or happiness begins to show. 

- What's wrong? 
- I don't know... the fear of it never happening? 
- No, it's probably the fear of it not being perfect, of it not being exactly as you want it to be. But let me tell you this: there is no such thing as perfect, all of those things in your head, are probably not going to happen that exact way. If you keep thinking like that you're just going to keep disappointing yourself. Maybe you need to let go of those "perfections" you dream of, and start seeing the beauty in the imperfect. 

Another not so sunny day.

Sleep. Stay in bed. Drink coffee. Eat pancakes. Sit in the sun. Read. Take photographs. Lie on the grass. Listen to music. Talk. Sing. Dance. Smile, and maybe even laugh.

You never did learn to let the little things go.

The unrewarding silence.

It's never over. Something always brings me back to you. And it always falls through... The more I try to forget, the harder it is and the more impossible it seems.

And the silence from you is a giveaway. 

" It might not seem like an adventure right now, but when you look back, you'll see. "

awake my soul

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes

fill these spaces up with days..

Meaningless days just go by aimlessly. It seems as though the days have just been repeating themselves constantly, no change, no excitement, everything's the same day in, day out. Years have passed and everything's the same, nothing terribly significant has happened. Maybe it's just me, but doesn't it seem like we're re-living the same day over and over? I just feel as though I'm wrapped in a big blanket, trapped. Tight, relatively comfortable, but my movements are limited, and I just feel like I can't unravel and set myself free.

It is at moments after I have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)I have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination,when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

- turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
I watch the roses of the day grow deep

E.E.Cummings

sing me to sleep.

I love you in all the dangerous ways.

I keep my heart in shape for your love.

As it turns out , I'm a beggar for it, I will exchange for it.

All this time you were serious. Now it's obvious.

It grows, like groves, and it's falling from your hand

Morning: cold, bright.

She woke up, quickly put on her old, faded jeans and bunged on her thick, warm, autumn sweater. She rushed downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed her warm coffee with her regular two tea-spoons of sugar. Shoe laces tied and woolly hat on, camera and bag hanging round her shoulder, she ran outside. The sun kissed her skin lightly as she walked into the garden. 

Alors tu vois, comme tout se mêle

Et du coeur a tes lèvres, je deviens un casse-tête

Ton rire me crie, de te lâcher

Avant de perdre prise, et d'abandonner

Car je ne t'en demanderai jamais autant

Déjà que tu me traites, comme un grand enfant

Et nous n'avons plus rien, à risquer

À part nos vies qu'on laisse de côté.

You are my biggest weakness.