hiraeth (n.)

hiraeth (n.): a homesickness for a home you can't return to

somehow I can see the light of the sun playing with my eyelashes
and it reminds me of you as it reflected in your eyes, and I would lose myself in them, an ocean of endless greens and blues
I forgot what the sun looked like since you'd been gone
but now I see it sweeping through the fields and dancing in the trees and resting on my face
and I remember you smiling and the wind sweeping your hair across your face and the freckles the sun left on your skin in it's wake
and I think that in your absence the sun shines brighter for you
and all I can do is hope that there is sun where you are and that the gods gave you a home half as beautiful as the one you left behind
and that maybe in another life I'll meet you there soon

this post was brought to you by the gladiator soundtrack, particularly elysium, which you should go listen to immediately (while reading this pls).

excerpt from the novel i may or may not write

The shadows whisper around me, closing in, and I wonder that any wood could feel so claustrophobic. The cold numbs my fingers, and the long dead brambles strain to entangle my feet. The skeletons of trees, stripped of their bark and robbed of their leaves, surround me, pale wood glowing in the falling dusk. The clouds are heavy overhead, and I find myself yelling hoarsely again. Time was running out. I would be too late.
The echo of my yells reverberates through the wood. Again and again and again. Until my voice breaks off in the middle of her name. In my rush, I'd hardly noticed the clearing until I stumbled upon it and feel my throat catch.
This is wrong.
A figure lays crumpled beneath a cape at the foot of a massive tree. It can't be her. I crumple at her side and gather the broken figure in my arms, sweeping the hood back from her face with unsteady hands.
No. Her eyelids flutter, failing to open and a weak moan escapes her lips. No no no.
Her face is marked angry red and bruised, swelling strange colors. It feels like a punch in the gut. But it looks less like a beating and more like she's been beaten up from the inside.
Oh. Wait.
Seething, angry tears burn the back of my eyes. I can't remember how to breathe. My hands are shaking when I reach to try to lift her neck. Of course. This has to be the work of the Sorcerer. I've seen more than enough wounds of my own from countless beatings to know this is different. I've never seen anything like this. My whole chest aches, but I find myself wishing fiercely that it hurt worse, that I could take some of her pain. Guilt tears at my conscience. Where had I been?
The pounding of my own heart is so loud I almost miss the soft whisper cutting through the now still air.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up."

ps / here's my temporarily public writing board on pinterest

pps / here's a previous blog post that is a character profile for the character who is narrating this piece ^. it also contains a link to the first few chapters of the novel, and will give you a little more background. and if you read it I would literally love you forever.

just like that

last night I left the crowded, too warm realm of adults and indoors to go outside under the stars in the cold with the shouts of kids and the tumble of words that didn't make sense and it didn't matter.
I forgot it was too cold to take my heels off and run barefoot or that my pants were getting soaked by the dew or that the gravel hurt my feet when I ran. I even forgot we were playing hide and seek because it felt so right standing close to the barky surface of that tree in my granny's backyard so much older than me, breathing in the smell of it, my feet planted on its roots, listening to the quiet of the night with the sudden shouts from cousins finding brothers in the game and racing in the shadows to tag them. the stars were bright and the shadows were darker and the wind rustled through the field and it didn't feel cold anymore.
they found me last and I was glad and we went inside and I ate more cookies for thanksgiving and talked to my great grandma about books and the night grew longer and we all went home.

and just like that
it was a memory

this weekend has been ridiculously close to perfect

so I did

we're alone with the glow of the embers and distant pinpricks of white lights in the dark sky above

and it's cold and you look at me and you're laughing

and all of a sudden all the rest fades away

and all I can think of is a string of words I read somewhere at a time that wasn't tonight

'the kind of smile that would be cruel not to kiss'

so I did

...

I wasn't gonna post this 

but then I did

for you

what would I do for you

I look up into the stars

and I see your eyes

and I know I would go that far for you

what would I do for you

if you asked I'm afraid

I don't know when I 'd stop giving

I'd give it all for you

what would I do for you

you don't have to ask I'm afraid

I've already given my heart to you

I couldn't take it back if I wanted to

but would you ever do the same for me

jules

it's night and I'm driving watching the blurry asphalt and broken yellow lines pass under my wheels
and it's like the road is moving along without me.

she's sleeping in the backseat wearing panda pjs and a fuzzy scarf and a striped toboggan and crazy socks and pink converse and she's seven now and I have no idea where the time went.

and I wonder how it's possible that I got to have a day like today coming straight from class and work to spend time with her and go shopping and try on crazy hats and eat ice cream and watch minions.

the radio is playing country music turned down low and I'm driving so slow to avoid braking hard or turning fast or hitting potholes. I want her to sleep while she can.

maybe if she sleeps time will slow down. or maybe it'll be like with me when I blink and the next year is here and gone and she's taller and smiling with two new front teeth.

it's taking me too long to write this. I don't know how to get the knot in my throat out on paper or how to show you the quiet and the starlight and how it felt like we were the only two people in the world tonight.

I think sometimes I avoid thinking about things, because I know once I start thinking I'll start feeling and the deeper I think the more I feel and I don't like that. But then comes the quiet and I can't help either.

"I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say." - flannery o'connor. I missed it. I miss it.

also, I'm realizing more everyday how much I love my family. it's funny how it takes you till you get older and have to leave to realize just how good things are around here.

recently in memory

[ the semester so far broken down into memories ]

it feels like august never happened. it feels like this year never happened.

feeling like I started two years behind in spanish.

a storm in the collision of a conglomeration of syllabi.

drives and drives and drives with the windows always down. filling up on gas, watching lives flash by on the highway in the heat. 

lots of sitting in my chair doing school. lots of late nights. lots of pens, pencils, scantrons.

s'mores and johnny cash and don williams.

last minute run at dusk after being stuck inside working all day after work, headphones in and the beat of my heart pumping in time with the music s t a y  a l i v e .

realizing that those people you were subconsciously judging are just that- people. that everyone has a story and redeeming qualities and something in common and that you're all just human.

nights slouched in a row of chairs talking about things that are mundane but take on new meaning when people actually care and listen and look you in the eyes. 

cafeteria hangs with people who make you laugh too loud in between class and work.

having swivel-y chairs in lab :')

hammering biological processes into your mind along to the tune of your laughter.

leaning on the car door in the gravel parking lot downtown and unnecessary smiles and an absence of words and the smell of smoke.

losing your flipflops in the deluge of rain in the street, and running back to get them and back into class barefoot and drenched on a monday.

doughnuts at work on a saturday.

cutting my hair and feeling good and not caring what other people think.

figuring out you've been paying for spotify premium and not using it. swapping music.

my nation crumbling and me watching from the sideline not having any idea what to do.

buying lemonade and cookies from a stand some kids set up for charity in your swimsuits and being so happy cause I remember being those kids and saying when I was older I would stop for kids like me.

late nights illuminated by electronic glow, again. afternoon after afternoon at the library.

a space in your heart where the people who really get you aren't.

staying up till 2am talking about Jesus and the Bible and stories that are so real and history and life and everything under the sun.

rushing to wendy's for frostys in the rain and dying because one of us tripped over their words.

there's still a lingering, resistant melancholy sometimes

but when people ask how I am I can say I'm good and really, really mean it.

and it feels good. and even though sometimes it doesn't, it is.

(got it?)

12am 10/1/16

blurred lines

why does the page keep staring back at me blank faced
why do I have to be the one to mar its innocent perfection
why does it fall to me to etch the lines into its worn skin
why can't I escape the wrinkles and smears I create

the ink pours out of my fingers staining everything I touch
black
black
black
on the perfect portrait of pristine purity

I couldn't stop it if I tried 

the marks blur behind my tears
as the salty wetness blurs the lines
the blank space is no longer black and white
but gray and I don't know what to think anymore

the more I learn
the less I know
and the more
I'm sure of it

yo I miss y'all. I've been a little busy, and my sporadic posts haven't really been about my life, or interacting with y'all, SO LEMME KNOW WHAT'S UP.

ps if you like miss me or something I'm at least keeping up with my (freaking hilarious) twitter and also instagram and sometimes pinterest, so go head on over there to stalk me. see ya. xo.

i miss you

I miss you
I miss the way your hands would ruffle the back of your hair
and it looked awful but you hadn't stopped since you were twelve
and every time I tried to make you stop I just laughed

I miss the way your glasses hung a little crooked
how you always looked at me sideways when you thought I wouldn't notice
how could you ever think I didn't notice every thing about you

I miss the way your jacket was always a little rumpled
how you shoved your fists into your pockets in the cold
how you ran your thumb over your lower lip when you thought hard

I miss being able to look at you when that smile creased your face
I miss walking into your arms and how perfectly our bodies fit together
I miss your voice and your eyes that held a whole universe that I'd only skimmed the surface of

I thought I would still be gazing into them now
still searching
still discovering
still learning
all that there was to know of you

I thought we had time
I thought we had each other
and that was it

I miss you
and I want to see you again
without the knot in my throat and the searing pain in my chest and the weight of the world on my shoulders

I don't know what I'm supposed to do
without seeing you
one
last
time

please
don't be gone

 

disclaimer: not written from personal experience just so no one freaks out

burning youth

cheers and waffles and hugs and bunches of confetti and definitely no happy tears (sike) for everyone on today because today we are all joining together to say that we are louder *intentionally leaving suspense about what that actually means so that you will visit the website and find out*. so incredibly proud of this group of beautiful humans and brave souls and honored to be a part of it. so, if the suspense is actually killing you now, head on over to the gem of website:

/ BURNING YOUTH /

"It's so easy to feel like you're alone with the voices inside of your head-- like you are the only one who hears their volume. Like you are the only one fighting them in the dark of the predawn. But actually we all hear the voices. We all lie awake at three AM sometimes, with a raging heart and sweaty palms--

We all hear them.

And yes, they are loud, but we?

We are louder.

We are BURNING YOUTH."

/ written by katie, one of our founders, future pulitzer prize winner, and 9x author of the year (I may or may not be a prophetess, don't ask)

so, go. go surround yourself with darkness fighters, broken souls who embrace the mess of you and me. go soak in the soul igniting words of humans who are stumbling together after the Light. and while you're at it, maybe grab some bagels, too. idk. let's do this, together.

in my mind

 [ glimpse into the dark before the dawn aka JESUS in my mind ]

in my mind
in the darkness
there's an abyss
surrounded by a mist
of all the doubts
of all the shouts
of all my fears
a lake of tears
where words
become swords
when I try
to cry
of my pain
whispers say I'm insane
don't tell stay in your cell
pretend you're well
hide from the crowds
all the shrouds
of your sin
you've given in
of all the guilt
that you built
yourself a prison
of derision
where you're mocked at
and you're scoffed at
you've caved
you're enslaved
and there's no escape
in the darkness
in my mind

i'm alive

you know how you always wish that you realized it was the best of times while you were still living them? that's what this summer feels like.
it feels like tv shows in your room, and early mornings at the library, and jumping off the high dive at the pool. it feels like owning a car, bought with money you earned. it feels like late nights, eating milkshakes sitting on the curb, walking through drive-thrus, eating ice cream in a waffle cone with a view of the country side. it feels like football in the mud, and the american flag, and not being afraid. it feels like johnny cash, and windows down, and road trips with friends, and hot air pouring in the sunroof, and weddings, and the beach, and long hair, and stargazing, and coffee dates, and used book sales. it feels like embracing change and not dreading the school year or watching people drive away. it feels like tainted bittersweet, sunshine and rain, and knowing to Whom i belong.
it feels like taking a deep breath and more than just that.
it feels like the beat of my heart pumping again and again
i'm alive i'm alive i'm alive

ps overflow of words and run on sentences cause that's how i roll. also, 100 freaking followers. y'all, i'm so thankful for each of you. can't even believe that many humans would want to read the tangle of words my brain comes up with. thank you thank you thank you.

together and it was enough

forever like that // ben rector

once upon a time there was a girl and a boy
and they were kids and they lived
together
in different little houses
in a little neighborhood
on the same road
and they ate popscicles on the porch in the late morning
and they ran barefoot down dusty worn paths
and they played and laughed and said goodbye at night

once upon a time there was a lady and a man
and they were young and they lived
together
in a small apartment
in a tall building
in a big city
and they sat in the warm morning sunlight
and they cooked on their tiny stove in the evening
and they held each other at night

once upon a time there was a lady and a man
and they were grown up and they lived
together
in a cheap suburban house
in a neighborhood
in a medium sized town
and they took their kids to school at dawn
and they drove and biked to and from work
and still they held each other at night

once upon a time there was a lady and a man
and they were old and they lived
together
in quaint white house
in the country
in the way out country
and they sat on their front porch in the morning light
and they sat and read books in the rainy afternoon
and they held each other even closer at night

once upon a time there was a lady and a man
and they were at peace and they lived and died
together
and it was enough

author's note: if you didn't listen to 'forever like that' while reading this, then go back to the top and read it again while listening. thanks for your patience with my absences. oh, and i did a quest post over here as a part of a friends wonderful series and it's a piece of my heart. xx

to stay

"guys we can never leave this town"
he said and he stared into the hazy horizon
and we sat together
in the hot and sun and humidity
on a saturday and we ate our snow cones
and were barefoot on the hard dirt and dry grass
and it was quiet and cars drove by
and the world turned around us
but we sat still
in the chaos
in the moment
in a silent promise
to stay

me listening to u2 and completely unrelated

i know this doesn't make much sense because what even is context but this is a moment of memory that i wanted to store and keep for awhile (such a relative word- awhile). so there you go.

wonder

sometimes
i wonder
how in the world
i was born
here
and
now
of all the places
all the times
all the lives
all the breaths breathed
this is the air
I'm breathing now
these are the sunsets
painted for me
the humans
made for me
the words
meant for me
this is the life
I was made to live
so why would
I let it
pass me by

ordinary day

in case you were wondering what I do while working at the library everyday THIS IS WHAT I'M DOING EVERYDAY. dreaming about this actually happening. and psh no of course I'm not in love what are you saying.

it was any other ordinary day

I walked into the library in the back entrance in the early morning light and the fresh air after rain

to quiet nods and good mornings and tossed my keys and bag gently into my locker

wheeled the cart full of books to the right out of the back, into the elevator, and up to the next floor

I’d already been in my routine for a while before I saw you

or rather I subtly sensed or heard or felt you, I’m not sure which one was first

maybe it was the creaking of the old wooden floors beneath your feet

or a breath of air brushing imperceptibly past your lips

or a careful scuffing through the rows on rows of books

maybe it was the touch of your eyes when my back was turned

but my first sight of you was through the shelves of books

just a glimpse of a pair of hands

strong and tanned and rifling through my books without infringing

what a better combination than well-muscled hands and a well-read mind I thought

and then felt like hitting myself cause I felt like I was already falling

and cause I’m such a wishful thinker when I don’t want to be and such a cynic when I don’t want to be

I kept returning the books to their homes on the shelves

embarrassingly aware of his presence on the other side of the row

and living in anticipation of the point when I’d have to put a book away on the same row in which he stood

until

as I reached to tuck a thick novel in between it’s two neighbors on the highest shelf

he entered the corner of my vision, neck bent over and brows furrowed in complete concentration on the book in hand

I focused much too single-mindedly on the task at hand

as he looked up from the back of the book, his eyes searching aimlessly

till they found me

I determinedly avoided them focusing on the way the light played with the dust failing to settle on my books, the way my ring was twisted too far to the left, how I needed to cut my nails

I felt the movement of you turning down the aisle and remember turning towards you much too vividly

tucking my hair behind my ear self-consciously

everything was sharp and clear to perfection at the same time surrounded by a haze

I remember a thousand things that I noticed in that first glance

the soft dark unconcerned hair

the firm jawline

your eyes were all the colors of the ocean

slightly bleary from morning and framed by thick lashes

your skin was the shade of a working man

and was that a spray of freckles across your nose?

your eyes widened fractionally as I turned, as if taken slightly off guard

my heart fluttered annoyingly. was this stuff not just for, like, YA fiction or something?

you bit your lip self-consciously and asked politely did I work here

I responded with a smile and didn’t remember what I said

you asked something about a book on military history,

moving closer to show me the author’s name on the book in your hardened hands

“it was written by this same guy, but I didn’t see it over there”

“what did you say the title was, again?” I said, moving towards the computer, even though I knew he hadn’t

he told me, laughing a little at the drama of the name

I wanted to turn and look at you but I was facing the computer and you were behind me

I wanted to see what you looked like when you laughed

I typed it into the search engine, my hands a little too flighty, 

and sought it out for him in the new arrival section, explaining his mistake to him

he apologized and I tripped over my words in an effort to relieve him

“oh, no problem, don’t worry about it- it happens to me all the time”

you actually looked slightly amused by this as I handed the book over to you

“does it?” I hesitated and you laughed and this time I saw

your face light up and sunshine pour out

and your slightly crooked, imperfect smile

“well, I kind of work here, so I’ve kind of gotten used to it, but it used it to happen to me all the time. so don’t feel bad- I know how you feel.”

you laughed some more at this and looked me in the eye. “well, good I feel better now” you say, still looking me in the eye.

“good” I reply with a smile playing on my lips and I can’t stop it

then you say thanks and I say no problem

and in my mind I think

I like you

12:45 am

oh it's too late to be writing this

its late on an early june summer night
it's actually almost morning
the thunder sounds like the thunderstorm in the sound of music
and the rain sounds like my childhood pounding on my tin roof
my lights feel like christmas lights
and i should be sleeping
my sister's moving out soon and i don't know whether to think about it or not or if it matters either way
she's living close by and i'll see her often and i'll visit hourly i'm sure and
oh it's too late to be writing this
oh well

but it won't be the same
we won't be having a sleepover every night
i won't be the one she randomly decides to watch lord of the rings or disney movies or netflix with
we won't be able to send each other pins from the next room over and hear the other laughing at them through the half open door
we won't be able to fall sleep to the sound of the fan in between our two rooms, muffling the sounds of our laughter, not quite smothered
we won't have our bathroom seshs, getting ready for bed at night
singing in the shower
she won't randomly come in my room and slouch into a chair and sit in a silence so at rest that comfortable sounds too obvious a word for it
she won't be here to harass me about cleaning the bathroom, to tease the younger kids, to cry silently laughing over inside jokes from when we were twelve
to discuss books, to stalk on instagram, to do and talk about every thing with
to be together
i don't know

it'll be good
but it'll kinda suck

idk
i keep feeling like maybe i should be crying when i think about it but for some reason i'm not
maybe i'm too tired
maybe it's just okay
and i realize that
but maybe i just still haven't realized it
and it'll hit me that last night that last minute before she walks down the aisle
and shoot.
she's there. and it's over. and she's gone.

ya know what maybe i should just not think of the fox and the hound song. when you're the best of friends. maybe if i just do that i'll be okay. maybe not though.
i still don't know what i think, but God's working good and he's turning us to gold and it's all Good.

man, thunder's loud when it rumbles. maybe that's God rumbling quietly reminding me that he controls the storm. ooh. that was a crash. maybe it's more important than a quiet one. He's holding it all in His loving, scarred hands.

just went to my devotional that i was supposed to do today as i closed all my tabs down and the first verse on there was proverbs 1:33 "but whoever listens to me will dwell secure and be at ease without dread of disaster" well now i'm crying

team waffle | a tag

1. thank/link the person who tagged you.
2. answer the questions.
3. tag 5 people.
4. include your favorite waffle/pancake recipe. (optional!)

shout out to rachel for starting a full out war underneath my simple tweet of "I want waffles". head on over to her blog for a little run down of how this all actually got started. also thanks to dslfkj lskdfjdlkjf lskdfjldsk slkdfj for tagging me. ^-^

 

 

// ideal pancake or waffle in three words //

 light and not pancake. just kidding. i'd like to clarify that i eat both, but waffles are so blatantly superior in my mind that i had to participate. i have yet to eat a pancake that doesn't leave me feeling gross afterwards. < my life is basically a tragedy. or a tragicomedy because in the end i get waffles.

 

// if you could eat pancakes or waffles with anyone in the world, living or dead, fictional or real, who would it be // 

either c. s. lewis or julie andrews. tough stuff. refusing to let myself think about fictional characters because i won't be able to constrain myself. although i feel like dumbledore could really appreciate a good waffle.

// top three condiments to put on your pancakes or waffles //

wow. these are too difficult for me. recently was introduced to the idea of cream cheese on waffles (this basically like combining bagels and waffles and i almost started crying. my two favorite entities in the universe combined. wow.) and that was good. also cool whip and any berry. i've also heard fried chicken ??? on the bucket list to try.

 

// why pancakes or waffles are better than the other option //

*prepares master thesis presentation* waffles have special boxes to store syrup, butter, cream cheese, berries, etc. it basically makes you feel like you have an organized life. they are infinitely more aesthetically pleasing. you can hold them to eat on the go. much more difficult with pancakes. at least for me my waffle maker divides them up into quarters so if you don't want much then you can just take half or a quarter, or if you want more but are unwilling to commit to eating a whole one, you can just take a little bit. or take four different quarters and use different toppings for each. also their name is a WAFFLE. like are you kidding me just think about how great that word is. it just makes you want to eat one. 

// if you could make your pancakes or waffles into any shape or size how would you choose // 

a hand making a peace sign. who even knows why. oh or sunglasses. i would feel so cool.

//tags//

clara

madilyn

olivia

elisabeth

katie

how do i recipe i've only ever used like two different ones so i'm not even gonna put them on here but autumn and abbiee both had gorgeous waffle recipes so go find those. probably will end your life long search for happiness.

the power of words tag

1. Thank the person who nominated you and give a link to their blog (optional: give them a waffle for tagging you!) THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME, ABBIE. A SHIPMENT OF WAFFLES IS OBVIOUSLY ON ITS WAY TO YOU RIGHT NOW.
2. Answer the original 6 text-themed questions
3. Add a typography/word related question of your own for those you tagged to answer
4. Tag 6+ bloggers and let them know (via their blogs, social media, whatev)
5. Include these rules in your post. I almost was a rebel and didn't follow this one, but.

/ FAVORITE LETTER OF THE ALPHABET /

Wow. I'm not sure if you actually know how possible it is to overthink this question. I've been thinking about it for like a day. I think it's W. I've always liked double u he always seemed like a little misfit. Cutie. At the same time though, in all actuality, deep down my favorite is probably I, because I use it 24/7 and unfortunately am constantly focused on myself. But I like W better.

/ THREE WORDS THAT YOU LOVE /

Cerulean (shout out to Cally the babe for this one). Celestial. Cadence. I ONLY DID C WORDS BECAUSE THERE ARE SO MANY WORDS THAT I'VE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH THAT I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

/ THREE WORDS THAT YOU HATE /

Mediocre. Acrimonious. (ok I actually like that one- I just wanted to include it). Flabby. STAP.

/ IF YOU WERE TO CREATE A WORD, WHAT IT WOULD BE + DESCRIBE /

This is so deep. Wow. Okay, so I have a page in one of my writing notebooks and for the name of a sorcerer I was looking up elvish words for darkness, cold, soul, and whatnot, as one does, and I came up with the name Morchant. It means shadow, but it's a combination of the words morn:dark and cant:shadow. Since that's a word I've already come up with and had written down, there you go. And, obviously, it wouldn't be used as a name.

/ THREE FAVORITE PUNCTUATION MARKS /

. : !

/ THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE FONTS /

Y'all. I don't do fonts. I'm too technologically challenged to figure out my fonts, although I will on occasion drool over other peoples vast array of fonts.  *muffled cries*

/ ONE WORD THAT MEANS A LOT TO YOU /

Nostalgia and gentle and cancer. And yeah. I did three.

/ IF YOU COULD CHANGE THE WAY ONE WORD SOUNDED WHICH WOULD IT BE AND HOW WOULD IT SOUND /

 You know that country Qatar? How about it be pronounced how it looks, mkay? Apparently, it's pronounced Cudder. (?!?!?!?!) Unacceptable. It should be pronounced KA TAR or KAY TAR. I'm fully aware that there are more pressing words that I would like to change pronunciations for, but oh well. I'll think of them later and get upset. 

/ MY QUESTION FOR YOU: FAVORITE WORD THAT STARTS WITH THE FIRST LETTER OF YOUR NAME /

/ TAGS /

Cally

Adelaide

Ava

Olivia

Kate

Nina

If some of you don't do tags, I guess that's too bad. You'll have to do it anyway. 

PS I also like the word melodramatic.