Each and Every Day

When he asked for her hand in marriage, he did not put a ring on her finger.
Rather, he picked a sunflower from his garden and placed it in her hand.
Her inquisitive glance was enough to make him say,
"I did not buy you a diamond ring, with the most karats and greatest shine,
simply because a circle represents eternity
and a ring on your finger declares you mine.
Instead I will pick you a sunflower each night for all of time.
No matter what day and what problems may arise,
there will be a moment where I have solely you in my mind.
So there is no precious gemstone to solidify our love
but instead my thoughts dedicated to the ever-present us,
and a sunflower that I can only hope you will take,
accepting that my love for you is a part of each and every day"

Ocean Sky Denim Eyes

His eyes are the ocean when it collides with the cliffs.
They are the sky that no birds fly in.
They are the worn denim in the thrift shop.
They are all those kinds of blue,
with cracks shooting out of the center
from all the times the world broke his point of view.

He told me, "Boys cry. Just as much as the girls."
So I watched him, with his ocean sky denim eyes
and his hands shaking like his veins are fault lines.
And I saw the pain from the war and the shame.
The men he saw die by the bullets he made fly,
and the home he saw wrecked by the rum on his breath.

"You're makin it just fine sweetie pie,"
he said as he looked straight into my eyes.
But it was at that moment he realized
that mine were the same kind of blue.
I wondered if he would take back what he said now that he knew.

I have five photographs hanging on my wall. I chose them deliberately. Not once has someone asked me why.
The first is when the fog moved like water through the hills with delicate elegance, graceful enough to be the ocean's tide. I watched it with him. It was the last time he kissed me and meant it.
The second is when I realized that what brings you somewhere isn't always the memory that you leave with in the end. It is the most beautiful sound I will ever hear. It is the colors I haven't seen since.
The third was a gray foggy day somewhere on the coast of the country, a coast I had never seen before.  It was the moment I realized I would be there the following September.
The fourth may look like a picture, but it is not. And I didn't take it. Its a ticket to a show that was more than a show, to see a writer whose words resonate in my bones. It reminds me of New Hampshire.
The fifth was on the road trip back. Where he kept telling me to stop whenever I saw something interesting, even though he was tired of driving. It was when I started loving photography again.
These are not just pretty pictures. These do not just fill empty space on a wall.

September 30th

I havn't seen you since.
Our heads nodded off to the side and we slipped into sleep for a moment. Something opened my eyes and I woke you up too. "Talk to me, keep me up." And you did. We talked of jazz and guitar and photography and sunrise and and surfing and squirrels and bears and things I can't remember because I was swimming in your eyes. We talked until my tired mind was invigorated with intrigue. There was a moment when I looked up and your eyes caught mine and I could hardly continue speaking. I don't know why. I don't know you. I don't know why I don't know you.
We talked until the gradience of the sky started to change, and the light seeped into the room. It took a while for you to notice it, but once you did you jolted up with an urgency. This is what we were waiting for. We threw on our jackets and shoes and you slung the towel and blanket over our shoulders and we ran into the street. When we made it to the cliffs edge we saw the sands below us and the calm ocean fading into the distance between us and the horizon.We stood there in awe of the colors and shared a silence that was a dialogue we both understood. The wonder in your eyes made me wonder of your eyes. I took out my camera and taught you to use it and then we walked down the cliffside till our feet were in the sand. We laid down the towel and laid under the blanket. It was colder than we thought the beach would be; the early morning hours had us fooled. But you were warm next to me, and our arms and legs were touching. Not entwined, but touching like fear and curiosity was tangible between us. So we laid there under the blanket and we waited on the sun. And we talked more about the sunrise and about how the brilliance of color lasts for only thirty seconds and how we would soon see it happen. And we talked about how amazing it was that the cliffs met the ocean and that the surfers were out already and how you have a hard time sleeping at night and we were so lost in each other's words that the sun had rubbed its eyes and began to awaken and we had hardly noticed. But when we looked up we spoke in silence again, inhaling awe and exhaling exhilaration. And you were there next to me and I'm glad you were. And I don't know why. I don't know you. I don't know why I don't know you.
But we took more pictures of the sun, as it straightened it's posture in the sky. It was red and wide and you stared at it until it left those marks in your eyes and we laughed and laid down and spoke as the sun rose and the light became blinding and we didn't care because we weren't looking there. We were not there for the sunrise anymore. You were there for me and I was there for you and I don't even know all the things we spoke of but I know we spoke of them to each other. We spoke of them until the waves crept towards us, crashing closer and closer to our feet and we would laugh every time it startled you out of speaking. The sun was risen and white now, as was the ocean reflecting it. And so we got up and you shook out the towels and blankets and we trekked back through the sand and up the cliff and we made it to the top. And we made it to the room and you set up some blankets and some pillows for us and we laid there like we laid on the beach except much closer now and before I knew it we were asleep and I slept with such ease and satisfaction and peace. I woke when your hand grasped my arm and pulled me closer to you. I looked at you curiously, and you were still asleep, and I thought maybe your action was an extension of something you were dreaming or a subconscious urge but either way I didn't mind. And I moved closer to you and fell right back into my sleep. When we woke I shared my wine and you shared your cigarettes and the last donette and when I left in the crowd you turned and look at me and I haven't seen you since. And I don't know why. I don't know you. I don't know why I don't know you.
But I want to. I want to lasso you in like the rising sun did that morning; I want you to stare at me until it leaves those marks in your eyes.
But I haven't seen you since.

A Thought of My Own

I have not thought a thought of my own in weeks
and half of what I think, I'm ashamed to speak
solitude has been my anchor for years
but in sharing my heart, I'm alone in my fears
and now my ship is floating away with ease
my anchor is gone and my heart's with the breeze
and I can't help but think that if there were road signs at sea
they would be yellow and blinking and pleading with me

some rambling from my sketchbook;

if a single person can influence your course of life
whether by inspiration, admiration or conversation,
doesn't that make us all connected?
think about the amount of people that you have allowed to inspire change in your life.
it is undeniable that we are interwoven.
we. not just you and me. not just you and him or you and her.
we. as in the entire world.
we are       all one.
you are not alone.

Potential

There are three types of volcanoes: active, dormant, and extinct.
Dormant ones fascinate me the most. They are asleep. They are deciding whether to burst or to die. To become active or to become extinct.
To create a massive explosion of lava and cover the earth with ash, or to harden into rock and crumble over time.
You see, what these dormant volcanoes have is potential.
Potential frightens me, truly.
Mostly because it is completely in your control. It is all you have to offer. It is all you have to give, and it's dormant. It's asleep.
You can make your potential come alive or you can let it go.
You can let it burst and spread it through the whole world, or you can let it wither away inside of you.
You are dormant. Will you push yourself to become active, or allow yourself to become extinct?

Where Light Meets Dark

Nobody ever talks about the sun as it sits at its peak in the sky
When it's the brightest and highest it will ever be
because something else steals the show:
the build-up and break-down of the peak of it's trail
when the sun sinks and emerges from the horizon
with bursts of color that lasso your eyes in
that make you want to climb a mountain just to see it differently, or force yourself out of bed so you can catch every second of it

Nobody ever talks about the times where you have it all right
When you're the brightest and highest you'll ever be
because something else steals the show:
the build-up and break-down of you're prime moment
where your light emerges or your darkness takes over
those times that you'd give anything to go back to and stay in forever
and those times that you'd give anything to forget

The reason these moments supersede the rest
is because everyone loves a little color
and don't you see,
you're the sun.
magnificent in the ways you can cast light and allow darkness
and the most bold when you can't decide between which you want to do
because the brightest colors happen
where light meets dark.

February 12th

Each second, our chests rise and fall as we breathe in and out with predictability. So how can we expect our lives to be any different. We build up everything to that one moment of perfection and then it all seems to fall. But sure enough, it will rise again.
Except
for these times where our hearts beat fast and our breath seems to stop, proving to us that perfection can last for more than just a moment.
And that's what I want to live for.
The times that my heart beats wild and my rhythmatic breath loses its rhythm and the peak of perfection becomes a flatline.

Pencils Shouldnt Exist

I've got post upon post of edited, rewritten and revised writing. This ones a little different. I've been wanting to post this for a while, but typing took away the entire meaning.
So here it is, the first and only draft. October 16th.

Lucy

My ankles wobbled on the slick ice, the cold seeped through my layers like water, and I couldn’t help but smile. She stood there dressed in yellow from her snow pants to her hat, and I watched her eyes, fearless and bright, as I urged her onto the ice. She ran towards it like a firework to the night sky, skidding and shaking and then smacking the surface like that final grand pop of color. She sprawled all fours out and didn’t make a sound.
“Lucy!” I slid my way across the ice, my hands waving in the air trying to keep my balance. When I reached her I frantically shook her shoulder, trying to bring her back to consciousness. Then I heard that infamous giggle and saw her face widen with a grin.
“Gotcha!” she said, as she reached her yellow-mitten hands up to me. I ground my teeth and laughed along with her.
“You know that really wasn’t funny, Lucy.”
She raised her eyebrows and grinned a little more, “Then why’d you laugh?” I just shook my head as I grabbed hold of her hands and lifted her to her feet.
She looked at me with those fearless and bright eyes, “Danielle?”
“Yeah, Luce?”
“Do you know how to skate?”
I smirked a little, “No, not really.”
She giggled and shook her head at that, “Yeah, me neither.” Then she wiped the ice and wetness off of her snow pants, and when she started to wobble she reached out her hands and clung to me. It threw off my balance, but I had I recover it fast so that neither of us would fall. As we weaved our way across the ice, I could tell she was getting the hang of it, and I was too. Whenever she felt uneasy or off balance, she would grab onto me and after a second or two she would let go of me to skate on her own. Each time she did that, she got better and better until eventually the both of us were gliding with ease. We skated all around until the sun started to go down.
She made her way over to me, till she was skating along side me, “Danielle?”
“Yes, Luce?”
“Do you know how to skate now?”
“I’d say so, yeah. Do you know how to skate now?”
She giggled at this, “Of course I do, Danie—”
In the middle of the sentence, as quickly as she started to wobble, she smacked the ice yet again.
“Ow…” she said as with a sigh.
I cringed at the sound, “Guess you don’t know how, huh, Luce?”
She raised an eyebrow at me, popped right back up without any help, and effortlessly glided into the distance. Lucy cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted into them with the intensity of a firework shooting up towards the sky, “Just cause I fell down doesn’t mean I can’t skate, it just means I’m learning how, Danielle!!” The phrase exploded into the hills surrounding us and the colors of it sank into my mind like it would into the blackness of the sky.
I smiled at her and shouted, “You’re right, Lucy. You’re right.” Because she was. I had never heard a truth as simple and forward as that. And from that night on, sparks flew in my mind as I remember that whenever I fell, I knew it wasn’t because I was incapable of doing something, but rather because I was still learning how.