Thursday, August 25, 2011

pack up, don't stray.

Amongst inevitable sunburns, a new and necessary addition, lack of sand dollars, and solitude only the gulf can bring, my father told me as a kid he tangled kites around the power lines in Asheville. I hope Samantha sees their strings. They’re near the home my grandmother lived in and barely remembers, before she told me she hoped my life was bright and shiny, with a few teardrops here and there. I wish I could have cried for something different. It’s getting hard keeping all the things I don’t know inside me; they haunt me. Yet summer taught me things I know too well: I miss my loved ones even when I am with them, people are impossible to trust, and apparently, so is my judgment of character. However, most importantly I've learned beginnings with endings are better left indefinite. I still believe in God, but I don’t believe in karma anymore.

L.B. Cowman, “We cannot help others who suffer without paying a price ourselves, because afflictions are the cost we pay for our ability to sympathize… we must be willing to face the cross.” I'm struggling with whether or not everything happens for a reason. Aren’t there easier ways to learn? Regardless, I thank God for the blessings in my life. I am thankful for the people that love me, thankful for 859 miles, thankful for the catharsis of cinders on concrete tables, for the VSC in Orlando, thankful for whatever growth may come.

To avoid drifting, I keep drawing maps in my head, on my hands, where this part of my life might lead, what darlings will be in what cities with me. Where will all our heartstrings collide? Will the yarn connecting our pushpins on maps make a constellation? Orion won't be transatlantic jjj, you have to come home. I can’t help but think I am pretending when we plan, because I’ve got so much ahead of me, and yet I am overwhelmed in love. How many more places will I call home? Boston, Philly, staying just outside DC, here in Alexandria, where I am reminded of the beauty and nostalgia of a white brick home on Cherokee Place, but even more cozy and quaint. I’m loving this place so far, my pretty white linens that cover me as I sleep in the middle of my bed for the first time in my life, these hardwood floors, a color called blissful blue, a lyrical voice and its guidance which alleviates the intimidation of everything unfamiliar, being chilly at night in August, not needing to drive, small town feels & big city thrills all in one.

I'll hold fast hope. I always do, always will.

Thursday, January 20, 2011


the magnolia trees in the yard of the house where i grew up bloom at opposite times of the year. i will never figure out which was planted in which season or first. their leaves never look the same. while one is barren, one is buxom. their inversion is constant. they are home.

lizzy, 35mm, double exposure.