thinker I grew-up a small town girl. Imagine the culture shock moving out into the world to find your independence and finding yourself in the big city. I couldn't. I choose to look at my life in seasons. Some were great, some were bad and some were worse. Highschool comes and goes, a season sometimes best left raked beneath the leaves. I fall prey to the mallet of university and realize I'm much more malleable than I thought. The sun comes out and chases the grey clouds away, I find fate, fun and folly at every turn. Silly girl, don't sell yourself on Blake when you can have the fascinating world of Freud.
Some have good luck, some have bad luck, but I have sad luck. Boys. love. meh. Your heart is safer wrapped in brown paper and kept cradled in the base of your guitar. Love is meant for heroes, but I chose to hide behind my words. Never settle for mediocre. It's all or nothing. Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire and your family will burn. Deserted tear ducts can't quelch those flames. Look at her, the social butterfly, taking refuge at every possibility, begging for a moment just to get to know herself.
For once she finds safety and in the last place she thought, Scripture. He courted me through my deep down and dirtiest times and wouldn't stop pursuing me until I became the pursuer. Jesus loves me, this I know. Hide your paintings under the blushing skirts of your bedspread, whisper sweet nothings to your computer screen, bury your nose into the cracked spine of sometimes useless textbooks. You have beautiful eyes he says, but if only he could see them from the view on the other side.
Sigh. Life is delicious, or so tells me strawberry shortcake. Music is such a lovely retreat. For the record, I am not obsessed. Aural pleasure... soulful, mournful sounds will nourish more than a tasty tidbit of gossip. eeps, my keyboard has run off with my hand, a marriage of true minds. Whether stormy or fairweather, enjoy the season while you can, you never know when it may be your last.
