i used to write constantly. it comes and goes: this yearning to voice emotion through a pen's point. i've decided to share bits + pieces of my writing here. they've guided me, lifted me, held me (especially in times of grief). they've all had purpose.
as much as i love photography, i've decided to keep these sketches simple. to let the words speak. to not be overpowered by images.
your grasp tightens as i drift solemnly into a most peaceful sleep
these walls are so thin
i can hear the cracks gasping for air.
the walls of saint michel were non-bleeding and warm.
i could run forever in the dusk of that day
i could run, knowing there is nothing i am running from.
i love the airport
engulfed by inner travels,
i curiously ponder the lives of these strangers (not strangers at all).
flying above the destruction of this terrain,
amidst the white ceiling.
arriving in someplace with new, captivated eyes.
reminds me of being a child, pleasure of seeking the new;
it was a time where every syllable felt italicized.
(i'm sick of trying to be a blank sheet of paper around you.)
thoughts on a train
the bags under his eyes accentuate
his defined scowl, which he has been
practicing for years - secretly shunning happiness,
pretending he does not want it.
those detailed eyelashes frame his shy and fragmented impulses.
i watch in awe, as i contemplate my singularity,
yet how we reside in one another.
i've seen that pain, the ache.
the ferocious dawn coerces the eyelids to open as
light blinds in.
a smile creeps as my lips become slender, yet not entirely invisible.
i have a voice today, and i can hear it while being silent.