i look back at myself and realize i wasn’t the person i was yesterday. my values have changed and maybe i’ve turned the complications into simplicity. nothing matters except beauty. 
if i want to be honest and i wanted you to really know me, i’d tell you listen to the ramblings of robert smith.. 
listening to a letter to elise is like falling in love over and over again.
inspiration like no other, faded frosted green, damp, cold..
like late night drives along empty sideroads, little light on the road, but my hand in your hand and i feel beautiful. or a shine of moonlight on the autumn air, a change of scenery but no feeling change.
tingling sensations through my body, and an overall feeling of happiness- i am content. 
i can see my breath in the air and my fingertips are slowly freezing to the point where everything i touch is numb. harsh, but smooth and simple. complaining about weather conditions and how the appearance of the sky is in sync with my mood, that’s real. 
you could never know me though. i haven’t lived enough to know me. 
for now, i’m simply a letter to elise played on repeat until life feels fiery warm, like magic. 

everytime the wind blows, it shoots mist through my window.
it sprinkles onto my bare skin
like dust on an empty road.
each rain drop is a drip of feeling.
they coat my skin until every inch of my body is feeling something new.
the cold drops land on my skin and the wind blows further, sending my wet skin into a frenzy of shivers.
the sky lacks colour. the sun is envious of the clouds taking over the sky.
they move in a swirling motion, staring at the sky is like being in a whirlpool of emotions
i feel hollow, but somehow so full. 
something new in me blossoms. 
i feel so real. 

i have that feeling.
that feeling where your mind clouds over with the illuminating warmth of
harsh orange against the soft safety of
melodies and lyrics.
crushed fingers against piano keys
entwined beautifully through the
ups and downs
of calloused finger tips playing acoustic guitar.
closing eyelids fluttering against note after note of
raw, innocent
butterfly wings of beauty.
tangled teardrops of simplicity;
happiness in
burnt orange.

—
written because of this song.

[click the photo to my more used blog]

my mind is a terrible mess of
awkward words
and they can’t come out of me when i need them to.
flash forward to worrying about my future and
i’m screwed.
i will have no education.
i will just live poorly;
writing useless fragments of a lost story-
a story without an ending.
the fear of the future brings me back.
it intoxicates my mind, clouding over into an infinite
whole
of lost words and forgotten times.
i’m walking on nothing.
my feet step forward but i’m wandering around
the same place
never moving
forward
or
back.
i’m contorted and lost in this wilderness of life.
i’m photographs of skewed colours.
i’m a lock that has lost it’s key.
i’m on my own, with no future.
i want to be able to help the world.
i want to be able to spread art across the universe,
coating the world in soft colour.
i want to be able to paint the world.
the only direction i had has been
crushed by trees of fallen dreams.
as overused and terrible as it sounds,
i
am
so
lost.