spinals
I'll write anywhere and anytime, in the wee hours of the morning or the frigid nights of winter where I nothing better to do. I'll paint on anything and anywhere and on surfaces not meant for art but where I meant for art to be. I'll talk to you here, there, anywhere, if you'll only listen.
I'm fascinated by the stories told by New York's horizon, the shapes of buildings caressing inky nights and glowing dawns. They give a sense of something bigger than yourself, something akin to a God, but something you can actually see and be a part of. That's why I love cities. I like believing in people more than believing in something unreal, something I've never even experienced. Skylines speak stories and I want to listen for the rest of my life.
Beginnings have always been difficult for me. Detroit to Atlanta to here. I hate beginnings because they always have an end. I've never wanted anything to end but they always have. I want this beginning to end. I want a new beginning. Maybe I'm growing up.
All I can think about is Jacob imprinting on Bella's baby. Nasty.
Drinking apple cider and picking twigs off our corduroy pants. The crunching of leaves under our new boots, tied up in scarves and hands in kitten mittens. Listening to new music and smiling through frigid nights over bonfires, earthy conversation stuck to us like glue. Oh, how I've missed you, Autumn, my dear friend, come back to me soon.
Apple cider and twigs on corduroy pants, crunching leaves under news boots and scarves tied snug around our necks. Flushed cheeks and hayrides, pumpkin picking and frigid nights. Listening to One Direction. Hah. I love to fall.