maybe

“It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien

I sit and think sometimes,

of days gone by.

Of the countless people,

who lived before.

Some of them are remembered,

& some are to remain forever forgotten.

But they all lived & laughed & cried,

& they all left behind something.

A legacy,

which helped shape the world

for better or for worse.

No matter how little,

they all left one behind.

The world is what it is today

because of all these people

and all these faces,

most of whom I'll never know.

I sit and think sometimes,

of my legacy.

I don't need my name in history textbooks.

I just want my legacy to make a difference

in this world.

Maybe I can't control what weather

future generations will have.

But I want to make sure the soil I leave behind

is clean.

And maybe if more of us sat down and thought

about our legacies,

really cared.

Then maybe, just maybe,

the soil our generation leaves behind

will be fertile

instead of rocky.

Maybe.

xx, e

poetry

AN APOLOGY
I once said, “I will grow up and never sleep
I will leave vegetables on my plate
I’ll have ice cream and cookies everyday
I will swim in the lake before it’s warm

I will wear my pajamas all day long
I will not brush my teeth in the morning
I will own a farm and a thousand horses
I will wear the same shirt for six days straight.”

But, youngster, growing up isn’t what you think
Your eyes will droop and you’ll sleep anyway
You eat the vegetables and avoid the sugar
(they said it’ll make your body ugly)

The lake water is full of dirt and grime
You have to dress nice so they’ll all love you
Your breath must be fresh, so they don’t hate you
(even you will learn to despise sugar-coated teeth)

You stopped loving horses and long for the city
And the stench of an old shirt’ll make you cringe.
Dear youngster, I’m sorry being older isn’t perfect.
Things are different than you thought they would be.




_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hey, remember me? it's Megan Kristine, back as an AOU author. I'm so very excited to be back writing with fab team here. I love this blog and it's mission and WOW! you are all so amazing. See you next friday. -M

breaking out because i want to

©

i don't normally write posts like this but i feel the need to speak my heart on something that's been troubling me lately.

i'm tired of blogging. don't worry, i'm not leaving AOU or taking a break or anything. but honestly, truly, i'm tired of blogging. why? because i feel like it's become so cliche and mundane and almost a joke. (and this is all about my own personal blogging habits.) i've fallen into this river of doubt where i think i have to meet everyone's expectations and tastes and if i don't, i've failed. failed as a writer, a stylist, a photographer, a thinker...i've failed. it's an awful feeling. it's crushing.

i'm not here to proclaim my insistence for a revolution. but i am saying this: i want to break out of this box of mundane so badly, i think i'm going to explode if i don't. i'm drowning in this sea because i'm fighting the current. i need to just swim to shore and get out of this water altogether. so, here's my new intention for my life in blogging:

i'm going to break out of the box because i want to. not because i think it will please my followers. not because it will grab the attention of readers around the world. but because i want to. simple as that. i want to do what i want, what i feel led to do, simply because i want to. maybe all this is just some silly rambling that i tend to produce on common occasion. but it's real to me; this feeling of inadequacy is real and it's tearing me down. so here's to me breaking out. excuse any random fluctuations in my style and habits, that's just me finding my place in life.

xoxo,
candace

untitled.

so, um, hi there. 
i like you. a lot.
i never saw it coming, though, this attraction to you. 
when we met so many months ago,
you were just a stranger to me.
but then, every time i saw your face 
and talked to you, you grew on me. 
somehow you weaved your way 
into my young mind and 
twisted yourself around my heart.
i'm comfortable around you. i'm not afraid
to be silly in front of you, which is
strange and very rare for me. i don't even understand 
why i like you. sure, you are kind, funny, smart, and witty.
but, i guess, i... i just don't know.
g.

the letter i never sent him

Dear Sir,

I am this person. I am this young and capable person full of dreams and goals accompanied by the combination of drive and talents necessary to fulfill these goals. Just the same as anyone else I am capable of success, I have no handicaps and I have the skill and the tenacity to be everything that I’ve always wanted to be.

I suppose what I am saying in a poor and round-a-bout way is that I have what it takes, just the same as any other young person, to accomplish amazing and admirable things and there is no reason whatsoever that I shouldn't become some great someone in charge of some great tast to fulfill some great and world changing venture, to be remembered by a great multitude of society without ever having to worry about being forgotten.

Why then, above all of these prospects, is the one most pressing desire of my heart so simply sit in your arms and watch the sunset over the horizon and lay with you as we attempt to make sense of the stars, long into the night until the very same sun rises westward?

Why, about all of these sensible and very prosperous endeavors is one thing that would bring me the greatest joy to make you smile? To learn the rhythm of your voice, to memorize it like my favorite song, obsess over it as if it were my greatest treasure and most prized possession?

Because I love you, and because even under the knowledge that this may only last for one day, or it may very well last for ten thousand days, a solitary moment or an endless amount of moments containing enough memories to fill a library of books – or it may last for some reasonable amount of time that is acceptable and easily predictable for a pair of teenagers.

Either way, no matter how long fate allows this to last and no matter what the outcome may be I will risk it without hesitation. My heart I’ve given to you on a silver platter and now it’s yours to cherish or to break and your whim. I’ve given no thought to the time I must invest in order to give us our very best shot.

You are the one person who right now, in this moment, I want more than anything I’ve ever longed for in my entire life. And if you remember me, my love, then I don’t care who forgets.

Love (I hope so at least), 

Bleah

in the stillness before dawn

Early, early in the day 
When all the world is still 
Before the Sun its rays begins to spill 
Silence rules, in all its glorious array 

The mist has not yet slipped away 
But leaning here, upon my window sill 
Waiting for the light of dawn to emerge from yonder hill 
I feel a lightness I cannot convey 

Perhaps it is the stillness all around 
That has made me notice what I often miss 
Small, but precious moments just like this 
Which into life bring color, light, and sound


hugs, eve

you and me and time

we both plead for time
to take pity on us poor
souls
and keep the
things we’ve kept so far.

time specializes in removing
memories
and everything
that once was
no longer is.

let’s don’t let time
do such a horrible
thing
to everything we’ve ever had
and everything I’ve ever known.

please don’t let
time
talk you into
forgetting
me.


x, abby

i've fallen for your eyes but they don't know me yet

©

sometimes, when bad things happen, we fall into this ditch of confusion and heartbreak. we don't know what happened or why; we can't conclude if it was our fault or theirs; and we surely are at a loss as to how we can fix things. and once we think we've figured it all out, we realize we're not even close. again and again we go through the painful process of turning the events over in our minds, hoping to see a little light tucked in there to make us feel better; but there isn't one. and we get this drop in our stomachs and a sick feeling that all hope of remedying the situation is lost...and so we give up. we stop trying. we extinguish the little beam of hope inside our hearts.

then all of a sudden, for some odd, unknown reason, it gets better. once again, you start catching them looking at you from across the room. again, they go out of their way to sit by you, to speak to you, to make you laugh and smile. they once again get that beautiful look in their eyes when they're near you. they start to look at you with wonder and awe again. when you laugh, that obnoxious, loud laugh of yours, they just gaze at you with admiration and hold back a giant smile.

but you cant say anything. or, you feel like you can't say anything because you don't want to ruin it. but some days, those days when you feel their eyes burning into your neck...you turn and take in the look on their face, hoping to read their heart, praying that you'll see the wonderment that was there before all the bad stuff happened...you just want to grasp their face in both of your hands and kiss the past away.

xoxo,
candace

i lost my heart to the sea

Part of my heart will forever remain lost amongst the waves

Somewhere beyond that horizon, where sky & sea meet

In that endless land of blue, amid foam & spray

It pulls me, that fragment of my soul

Whispering, calling me back to that sandy shore

And I cannot wait for the day I return

It hurts sometimes, this ache, this longing

"Is it worth it," you ask, "losing your heart to the sea?"

"I don't know", I answer, "but is it worth not losing it?"

hugs,
eve

oh, nothing grand.

"hi!"

"oh, um... hi."

"what's your name?"

"grace."

"sorry, can you speak up a little? my hearing isn't as good as it used to be, you know." wink

"uh, my name is grace."

"oh, well, it's nice to meet you grace!"

"yeah, um, it's nice to meet you too."

"i can't promise i'll remember your name, though, just to give you a fare warning." wink, wink

oh, that's fine, really. no body really remembers me, because i'm not exactly what you would call memorable. 

i'm just shy and quiet and nothing grand. there are very few people in this world who've remembered my name, 

and they're my friends, the only people who actually really, truly matter to me, and apparently i must matter to them, if only a little, 

if they still remember my name. so really, it's okay.

"haha, i'm not good with names, either."

"well, i have to go now. see you later!"

"yeah, see you later."

c'est quoi l'amour?

(source)

This is my favorite time of year because romance and the color pink are all socially acceptable. In honor of Valentines Day I thought I'd share a short love story that I wrote last week with you.

I was sitting next to you in biology, do you remember? We were sitting there while the professor spoke in that broken English that you said could probably lull you to sleep at night, you’d also said jokingly once or twice that the only thing that did keep you awake in biology class was me.

         Now, while I’d like to translate that into some romantic gesture but I know it wasn't  you see I like extra credit so I answer a lot of questions and since you sit next to me and I’m sounding like the guy who at auctions who talks a mile a minute I don’t think you could actually get any sleep. I often wondered how often you regretted picking my table at the beginning of the semester.

       That semester was half-over, do you remember? We’d just been released, early that day I think. You asked if I wanted to get coffee or something because it was cold, and really I wanted cocoa. Except that I said no, I don’t know why I said no my next class wasn't for an hour, but I said not and continued shoving overstuffed binders and folders into my way-to-heavy backpack.

         “Okay well maybe another time?” you said.

       I felt awkward, which isn’t new because I always feel awkward but I felt oddly awkward today which was, well, odd.

        “Yeah sure. Let me give you my number”

       My friend Kim told me later that he probably thought I was being forward and would be attracted to that, but I wasn’t being forward I was being logical. How could we do it another time if he didn’t have my number, when usually I wouldn’t have any time after biology? And what was the likelihood that we would be released early “another time”?

       I recited it to you and you put the ten digits into your phone, area code and all, and then you typed a name for my contact information. I looked over your shoulder and I saw that you put Lizi from biology 1301. Which I thought was funny, like you have any other biology classes, or like you would take any other ones after this, like you would even keep my number pass this semester to get confused with any other Lizi’s from biology class.

      It was in that moment that I realized I didn’t want to be Lizi from biology class, and I wondered what it could possibly change to. Maybe we’d become friends and it would be Lizi Holden, my first and last name like everyone else in your contacts [or so I presumed]. Or maybe we would fall in love and it would be Baby with a heart. Or My Darling. Or The Girlfriend with a kissy emoticon. I think that I’d very much like it to say My Lizi, or That Girl I’m in Love with. I know the latter is kind of lengthy, but I like that it’s lengthy and straightforward at the same time. I like that anytime I would text you or call you if someone looked at your phone they would know without a doubt that I’m not just your Baby, or you Girlfriend, or even that we’re cute and sentimental and you call me Darling like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe piece. No, I’d be that girl you love. I think I’d rather be that then your girlfriend.

      It’s the end of the semester now, and I don’t mean to bother you but we never did get that coffee and I’m not asking you to go to Starbucks with me or even IHOP, I just wanted to know if you still have my number, and if I’m still just Lizi from biology, or if I’m something else. 

I hope everyone has a really lovely day.

xx,
Bleah

nature's silence

Silence is such a quaint term. Can you actually hear it? No, most people would say, because silence is nothing but the absence of sound... right? Well, no. Silence is much, much more than that. You can hear it, just as long as you listen hard enough.

Silence is among the foamy waves, crashing on a sandy shore. In the trickle of a river among the tall grasses of a meadow. In a wood at dawn, among the ancient tree trunks. Amid the early morning mist, stretching across the countryside. In the patter of rain on a windowpane. It is the rumble of thunder before a storm. Silence is in the wind, whistling across the trees. In falling leaves during autumn. It is a snowflake, just settling on the ground. The first rays of sun, peeking over a hill. In birdsong in the morning & cricket lullabies at evening. It is the little peepholes of twinkling light, poked through the dark fabric of our night sky. It is in the golden light at sunset.

Nature's silence is everywhere. It listens, understands, & inspires. It connects with the deepest parts of our souls. All we have to do is slow down & observe a bit more. Be attentive. Can you hear it a little more clearly now?

hugs, eve

the boy who whistles

I watched him every day we were there. He never saw me but I always saw him. In my head I called him the boy who whistles. And the boy who whistles made me smile by living up to his name. Every day he would walk to the water, whistling whatever was in his head, I never knew what it was. Sometimes his dog would tag along or he would go barefoot or he would wear a towel around his shoulders. But he always whistled. It was such a carefree and happy sound that it stuck with me.
I never spoke to him, he never spoke to me. He never saw me, or maybe he did. The girl with a notebook, maybe that’s who I was to him. But probably not.
The boy who whistles taught me a valuable lesson in life, and he taught it to me without words, without recognition, without meaning to. He taught it quietly so that it’s remembered loudly.

--

It’s a true story, and I never forgot the boy who whistles. I hope I can impact another like he did me. In such a small, intriguing way. I have yet to write a fictional character based off him, I’m waiting for the right story.
x, abby

The Color of Rain

About two months ago I submitted a piece of my writing to Anthropologie for their magazine, unfortunately they didn't use it but I thought that some of y'all might enjoy it so I'm sharing it with you.

original photo // typography by jocee

The Color Of Rain 

  I’m an odd sort of person, the kind who associates nostalgic memories with a color in a very specific mental rainbow. My favorite color is the color of rain. In my mind it’s kind of a musty aquamarine, a variation of color somewhere between sea foam and grey, the “color”, if you will, washes of over me with a cozy feeling that urges me to materialize a crackling fireplace and a collection of E.E. Cummings poetry with a nice cup of vanilla cocoa right before my eyes.

  Rain is the kind of thing that’s an ironic combination of refreshment, the cool kind of sprinkle that sits on tops of your head and weaves itself between each strand of your hair before making its way down your forehead and over your shoulders causing your overall body temperature to drop. While being cozy and warm at the same time. For some reason that I may never understand I've always associated rain with home, not a brick and cement building kind of home but the kind of home that is also a synonym for security and safety, being tucked in before bed on Christmas eve with promises of Santa or always having someone to hug you when you kiss you when you cry.

  I believe that the first people who ever felt rain felt that lump in their chest that we’re all so familiar with and they smiled. They may not have understood its origins and at first it may have frightened them, but I think that they soon embraced it. Overcast days with the pitter patter of fresh water from heaven will always be my favorite kind of day. I will always dance in the rain, and play in the water spout, jump in puddles, and curl up next to the window. May the sound of distant thunder and the color of rain always be the rhythm that my heart synchronizes itself to as I sleep.

What's your favorite color?
xx,
bleah.

spring again

I don't have a favourite season. I always find myself looking forward to the freshness of spring, the laziness of summer, the coziness of autumn, & the silent beauty of winter. Each has a most lovely, wholehearted embrace.

Though, every year, in the last days of January, or perhaps, those in mid-February, I start feeling the tightness of winter's embrace all too keenly. It makes me restless. I start longing for young buds of green, rosy tinges  amid the brown, lilac breezes, & even the sight of dandelion seeds carried by the wind. I want to break free of the clutch of winter, grown all too stiff & cold, & run to spring again.

Oh, how glorious it will be to feel the warm air on my face! To hear the lovely chirping bird melodies & experience all the lovely sights & aromas. Hurry up, spring. Let us go adventuring together again...

I'm Eve -- a dreamer, a reader, a writer, a photographer, & a blogger. I love feeling the strong & adventurous pull of the ocean, & listening to my rather large collection of movie soundtracks. I'm often awkward & better express myself in writing. I have an unfinished six year-old diary & books on my shelf that haven't been read yet. My ideal vacation would be a two week long hike across the mountain ranges of New Zealand. It's nice to meet you, friend. :)

Wonder // thoughts from the big apple

a Thursday post by Bleah Briann from Lovely 

currently listening to: gyspy by suzanne vega 

I’ve been thinking a lot about wonder, wonder and awe and the beauty that inspires it. I think, however, the deepest and truest form of awe, the kind the bears forth creativity – I believe the kind of awe that inspires writers and painters, musicians and artists of every field, is the awe that is inspired by the beauty of experience and not merely the beauty that we see with our eyes.

I recently spent a couple of weeks up north (as I’m originally from Texas). It was my first time being that far away from home since I was a very little girl. When I was five we took a trip to New Jersey and I hadn’t flown since. To be honest I didn’t think I would like the experience. I found myself on the phone with my boyfriend at five in the morning waiting in the check line trying not to cry. I was carrying around three heavy bags, all by myself in an airport getting ready to fly to New York City. My emotions, to say the very least, were more than conflicting. I will always be grateful to a cheery, thoughtful flight attendant with a glass of ginger ale and some pretzels.

I landed in New York and took a shuttle to our ritzy hotel in Time Square. The clash of diamonds, silk, and doorman with the dirt, grime, and pushy salesman on the way to my hotel were incredibly overwhelming and much different from my little Suburbia here in Southeast Texas. It was beautiful though, the people and the diversity they brought with them. The lights and the surreal feeling of finally being somewhere iconic instead of somewhere so misunderstood as the Lonestar state. In the midst of it all, passing Park Avenue (Just like monopoly!) and pulling up in front of the infamous spot where the ball would drop in just a week, I never thought that I would be spending my Christmas Eve in one of the most iconic spots in the world.

My trip was truly remarkable, a few of my favorite spots included Central Park, Greenwich Village (not pronounced phonetically, I’m glad I learned this from Extremely Loud before the trip), and Grand Central Station, if you’re ever there you should really take a peek at the whispering corners. They were pretty impressive, and whimsical.

I also spent a few days in D.C. looking through beautiful museums and enjoying fabulous food. I saw Le Mis in a national theater and went on a midnight tour of all of the monuments. My cousins and I also took a playful visit to the Zoo, and I ventured out to the subways on my own to take a peek at Georgetown and found a very hipster-esque paradise on my last day for a salted caramel hot cocoa and chat with a Scottish boy.

I came back full of awe and wonder, partially over the sights. The majesty of Central Park, the joy of seeing the Washington Square Arch, The Lincoln Memorial even, the view from Brooklyn Bridge was also pretty astounding.  At the end of the day though, I think the most wonder I found was in the feeling of floating 39,000 feet in the air, of the way my heart echoed the sound piano as the man played in Greenwich. Of being somewhere so many people had been before me. You see, real wonder, I’ve come to find, is in the feelings and the memories. Real inspiration comes from doing things and taking it all in, it also comes from finding out what means the most to you and why. I can’t wait to travel the world, learn the customs, and see the sights. I can’t wait to fill my life with inspiration from every corner of the globe – I also can’t wait for the cup of coffee I’m going to have with my friend today after Kickboxing and the way seeing her for the first time in a week is going to make me feel. You see loves, it’s all about the little things that make you happy. And not what anyone else says about them.

my name is bleah briann, i am an english major in my second semester of college in southwest texas. i'm not very good at a lot of endeavors, but writing is something that i seem to be fairly good at and i've tried to harness all of my creativity into that field for a couple of years now. blogging has helped me do that. you can read more about me as well as some of the other readers here. or you can just head over to my blog and meet me personally for yourself at lovely. i hope you have a really beautiful day and i'm incredibly excited to be writing for this blog!

writings.

i dabble down thoughts a little here and there. sometimes in moleskines, regular notebooks, napkins, desks, the sidewalk, whatever calls to me. lately, though, i haven't had that feeling; the feeling where i've gotten that bright idea and i just have to pen it down. however, these are from the times that i have had that feeling, so i thought i'd share some of them with you. enjoy. 

xx,

jocee.

spread your wings - be free.

unknown // image 

when we were children, we were free. we had no cares, we had no limitations. our bikes traveled down unexplored, beaten paths. our feet would dance to the music no one else cared to hear. we colored outside the lines. we flew above the water. but as we grew, freedom morphed into a shell of the world's definition. we did not wander. we did not dance and laugh without worry. worldview was no longer a word, but life. even though, a shell would break, and we were no longer bound. we spread our wings for the world to see. we flew once more. we were free. we heard the whisper- be free. be free.

time is short, no? I've found I'm running out of it, see, not making what's most important in life a priority. for this I leave you darlings, making time to spread my wings and be free, hoping you always do the same. thank you to the ladies of AOU and you dearies for allowing me to post here and share my heart. you are all truly lovely. 

xo

katie

a poem.

source

The sun shines bright, just like her eyes,

The water often ripples, and her laughter does the same.

A beautiful face, a singing spirit,

Pure in heart is her name.

Innocence is square in her face,

Freckles show her love of the sun.

Never one for purposed trouble,

All that's needed is silly fun.

Like a baby bird, just learning to fly,

Still so much to learn,

A little nudge, a little push,

Respect and independence to earn.

But she does not fear, she does not lull,

She's always ready for change.

With never-ending peace and joy,

She's grace beyond her age.

xo

katie

falling.

The sky fell into pieces. Falling, falling, summer nights are far too often dark and lonely. The sky, a usual blank canvas for tomorrow's masterpiece, folded slowly around me. Slowly, slowly, blanketing me in quiet warmth. Breathing becomes calm as dreary eyes droop sadly. Sleep, sleep, goodnight dear one. Another day will come again.

xo

katie

ps- I know, I'm a dork for not posting last week. forgive me?