Fair Flying

Hey July So you weren't as bad as I made you out to be. In fact, you weren't really "bad" at all! I think I'm not used to there being flaws in my summers... Maybe that sounds kind of shallow, and I'm sorry, but it's true. Summertime has always been, for me at least, a time of reverie and constant excitement and non-stop partypartyparty.  But when it's not like that... when I can feel the gaping holes in my life become more vivid during the still silence of summer nights, I get a little bit sad, July. Because, let's be honest, I really love perfect summers. They're the kind of summers that don't really exist, but you're so blindingly brilliant that you make me feel like they do. (That was a compliment, July. Take it or leave it.) So, what I'm saying is: I'm sorry for being so grumpy. You've really been quite the gentleman to me. I had a wonderful time spending long days with you, falling asleep in your warm embrac

I had this realization recently that I've been walking through life on my tiptoes. Literally and figuratively. I thought it was only something I did when I was little, something that disappeared when I got older. But that didn't seem to be the case. Along with using an incredibly passive voice quite frequently ( ha ha ), I continued tip-toeing around the house and it completely escaped my notice until my mom pointed it out to me. Then it began bothering me. I began noticing other strange habits of mine... For instance: biting my lips till they're rather raw, bouncing my feet while sitting, chewing my nails in my sleep ( though that usually only happens when I'm super stressed )... There's probably more. And they annoy me to no avail. I made a plan recently ( or perhaps a feeble attempt ) to stop some/all of these ridiculous habits. Especially the tip toe thing. I'm going to start walking heel-toe again. And then I thought: you know what? I nee

Last weekend, I stayed at the cottage on the lake ( the one my family and I visit almost every day in the summer... have I mentioned that? ) and I had an amazing time. There were some minuscule malfunctions, but I could never complain. That place is a second home to me, a sanctuary where everything usually makes sense. There's just something that's calming about the lake, you know? And water in general for me is a huge part of my life. It's my source of energy, health and relaxation. In almost any situation, bring me water, -bottled, lake or sea- and I'll probably be a happy camper.  But anyway, the thing I love best about being at the lake is the family. Sure, sometimes it's nice to sit out on the dock by myself and watch the sun slowly sashay its way to the horizon, but most of the time it's better with a good friend or cousin at my side. I love my cousins. They're some of the best people in my life, and I'll tell you why: we talk about everything. W

Lately, I've been tired. My whole summer thus far has felt like nothing but sleepy sentiments and a constant stretch of my body and mind. At first I thought it was laziness. And I also thought that I deserved to be lazy. After all, I had just finished taking a crapload of difficult, (probably) pretty important exams, and school had just ended, and I was freaking exhausted! But then I just started feeling tired. All day every day. I've even been exercising more, hoping that would make me feel better. I guess it doesn't help that I sleep the morning away.  Between parties and get-togethers and just sitting in my room all day, I feel as though I've been stretched. I'm either tired because I've done nothing, or tired because I did too much. I'd like to find a happy medium soon, and I expect I will by the time school returns and takes me back in its daunting, fiddling fingers.  Don't get me wrong; this summer hasn't been bad at all.  But it's certainl

What if every line, wrinkle or blemish on our skin represents a feeling or emotion or event that happened to us that we can't describe so instead it forms on our skin as living proof of our past experiences? I think that's why we wrinkle as we grow old. It's like a story of our life, printed in some secret language only God and maybe angels can read. I'd like to think so. I'd also like to think my thoughts are pretty profound considering it's the middle of the night, but this "what if" has probably already been thought of before. Nightienight!

Dear July, I didn't want to do this and I didn't want to get so sappy about it. But I can't help it. Dammit, July, why are you so slippery? You're like the water: confusing yet enchanting. Everything you are is breaking yet staying together, like waves crashing against the shore. It's kind of drowning me, though. It wipes my mind and soul clean and then leaves me feeling... weird. What am I left with? Ancient, salty sand? Chunks of reflective sea glass? And no, I won't run out of imagery any time soon because that's just who I am. I'm a pile of misused metaphors and sloppy similes.  But who cares. I don't matter right now. You, on the other hand, matter a great amount. When I was little, you whispered grand secrets and reveries to me and sang songs that promised eternal joy. You swept me up and I fell in love with you.  ...That may have been my fault, though. I probably egged you on, didn't I? Don't worry, I still love you even thoug

I had a dream last night and someone told me with the sweetest smile on their face: "Your words are full and sometimes we can hear the love inside of them."

Maybe human questions are just beginnings to a puzzle and it takes generations and generations for hundreds of thousands of pieces to come together and fit perfectly in place as one.

Come back to me, enchanting reverie and help guide me through the deep sea. You see, I spend all night with thee listening to Owl City but it isn’t really enough for me.