Colour My Words.

I Used To Build Dreams About You.

I haven't been writing as much lately as I did during the summer. I'll blame it on creative exhaustion and thank my grad degree for that. What I did have time for this Thanksgiving school break, however, was a quick photo session with one of my good friends. I don't normally do much fashion photography, not because I don't like it, but because I naturally tend to sway in the more conceptual/fantastical direction; my other photo sessions will prove it. I'm pleased with the photos, though! I'll be giving this look more of a try over the holidays. <3

Model: Laura Sofia Pagan

MUA: Lourdes Rodriguez

Boston, Massachusetts 

You Are Dying.

 You are dying because you are so alive          

I clump your damp earth 
by fistfuls          I exalt your guts and lowlands

         your territories overrun with horses 
I fill up your hollows

-Brownyn Valentine, "Dear Body"

Scary To Be Free.

Put your phone down. Daydream about the good things. Always keep a good book in your purse--it's both a secret and an escape plan, two good things to have. Make the bed. Hold the door open for strangers. Smile. Look other people in the eye. So, you’re scared? Good, fear indicates worth. And guess what? Everyone is afraid.

The Boob Touch.

This is one of my main girls, Holly. She's going to kill me when she sees this.

Like seriously.

What.

Are.

You.

Doing.

But we had such a good laugh when we were going through pictures together and spotted this indecency that I just couldn't pass it up. I told you I was going to GIF it, friend. 

Main Girl and I attended Prom a couple of weeks ago. Or more like, she attended, I just snapped photos in a corner with terrible lighting. Our church holds events for international students, and this was one of those in which we attempted to give them a taste of the U.S., complete with the silly photo booth pictures that, who are we even kidding, are kind of the best part. 

 Our nail color matches our phone cases. Just thought I'd point that out. 

 

 

*Bleep* Off, Winter.

'Twas about that time of the year you left us for good.

Reality.

What is reality, anyway?

(If we)

stomped each other's feet

on our way to heaven

you and me 

(we)

hung our coats

on the atriums of

faith.

 

Waited.

And just to think, I left the rest of my life right there. At that sharp intake of breath, and the crushing quiet that came after. 

Instead, I wake to the same old dreams and sip coffee with my longing. I think of how different it would’ve been if not for foreboding. 

And just to think, I left the rest of my life right there. How about an exhale, I wonder. How about a sound.

Chrysalis.

 “She liked being reminded of butterflies. She remembered being six or seven and crying over the fates of the butterflies in her yard after learning that they lived for only a few days. Her mother had comforted her and told her not to be sad for the butterflies, that just because their lives were short didn't mean they were tragic. Watching them flying in the warm sun among the daisies in their garden, her mother had said to her, see, they have a beautiful life. Alice liked remembering that.” - Lisa Genova, Still Alice 

That Time We Rewinded Time.

My best friend and I, we've known each other for what feels like years. Maybe because it has been years, 16 to be exact, ever since we laid eyes on each other; our moms pushing us both into the same classroom. She was pretty much perfect, and I a long-legged scrawny kid who instantly disliked her. Yup, I guess you could say we've been best friends ever since I hated her in the first grade. High-five.

After the first fight over a boy who didn't deserve either of our hearts (I'm looking at you, six-year old Luis Miguel!), it's safe to say we pretty much hit it off right away. My childhood is filled with memories of sleepovers, doll houses, play dates, plays we invented, dances we choreographed. My teenage years a constant blur of her face on my camera lens, boy talks, three-hour long telephone conversations, fights, and MySpace.

A chest-bump to the girl who first taught me what it means to have a "sister from another mister".  It's in all we lived together. It's in the fact we were even neighbors, were part of the same volleyball team, and our moms still even talk on the phone from time to time. 

Life has definitely taken us in different directions, but that's its rhythm. We don't talk on the phone for hours, I don't know the latest itty-bitty details of her life anymore, but we've overcome distance as only two family member can do. Once I'm back home it just kinda goes back to the way it was, even if we're two different people entirely. 

As I enjoyed my last few days back at home until I had to leave for another 5-6 months,  she came over to my house and we enjoyed a full day purely like it was in the old times. No plans, no responsibilities, no  duty-calls, just us. Just us looking at each other like..."Girl, it's been four years since we  took a picture together..." and "Girl, we better get started." 

 Afterwards we lay in my bed scrolling through photos and picking out our favorites. It was surreal to me for a second how much time stood still. It's as if no four years had passed and we had picked off right at the end of senior year. It goes to say how much, at the core, we're always the same people. The stuff in the surface changes: life decisions, jobs, families, boyfriends, marriages, but in the end, what really connects you to someone is transcendental of all the minutae of daily life. 

It's such an honor to you, my friend. Until the rocking chairs...

See you then.

Xo.
 

An Emotional Hoarder.

(Laura)

I received a letter today from one of my best friends. And it said:

"…Sometimes it’s good to forget, good to move on, good to create new memories and invest in newer things- this all I tell myself. Unfortunately, I have friends like you- friends who feel, and don’t allow me to forget. This is a good thing. A blessing. You don’t just feel, but you tell, you speak, you write. And I don’t. Your gifts challenge me." 

And after cracking up a tear, or two, I looked at my pretty little stack of letters. The girl has a point. Wow. I do keep all of them. Every single little thing someone ever wrote me. I even have a post-it note one of my friends wrote to me forever ago and stuck in my backpack. And while she sometimes chooses to let go of those almost insignificant details of the day-to-day, I don’t. I can’t. I hold on to the written words as if they were spoken breath I caught between my fingers.

There’s a certain peace I make about stowing away certain memories, or feelings, to relive again. I can almost let go a little better, move on a little faster, knowing I can revisit that time if I so choose to. And the reality is that I don’t choose to very often. But like with so many things in life, it’s just that small possibility that keeps me on the edge of my seat. I don’t regret anything, I’m not ashamed of anything. I just reason that…just like my pal Alfred Lord Tennyson once said, ” It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all”. And so I reason that, yes, I may not live next to the beach anymore, and I may not have the same friends I did anymore; heck, I may not have the same social life I did anymore, amongst other past significant things, but I did once. And I lived it. And it was good while it lasted. And that to me is enough.

 There’s something about feeling. Some fleeting and ephemeral thing. And sometimes I still attempt to catch it, as one would try to catch butterflies.

And it takes all kinds of different people to make the world. And maybe I want to spend the rest of my life catching butterflies.