Isla Vista

There’s about thirty seconds. You’ve— no— I’ve got thirty seconds. It’s a to countdown to failure.
I dial you up but I won’t even put it to my ear because I already know what’s coming. After the clear ringing resounds in the air ten times I’m ready to give up. I’m certain you hear it. You’ve just decided to ignore me, to punish me. I’ll give it one more try. Three seconds go by and I’m shocked when there’s a click. Have you picked up?! No it’s that robotic woman again telling me you don’t have time for me. A wave of disappointment washes over my entire being. Or is it relief? I can’t tell the difference anymore. Im caught up thinking about which one i prefer but my thoughts return to you.
I’m sure what would’ve happened if things had gone differently would have left a sour taste in your mouth. You must’ve foreseen my intention. A phone call to you would be a sweet release, the one I’ve needed for a while now. I guess I’ll just have to do without.

Taken with instagram

Taken with instagram

Sometimes I prefer to live in an imagined reality. 

I pretend I’m a woman within a painting within the real world. In this daydream of strokes and splatters I don’t really matter. I’m an insignificant blob of paint somebody dreamt up.

Like a work of Cubism, I am viewed from unnatural angles. Unrecognizable and ill-fitting amongst the more realistic paintings, I attract the eye of many a passerby. A moment passes. My viewers move on. No one cares to know the story behind the painting that is me. 

The gallery goers pass through slowly in the afternoon. I stare at them, and they glance at me.


Taken with instagram

Sometimes I prefer to live in an imagined reality.

I pretend I’m a woman within a painting within the real world. In this daydream of strokes and splatters I don’t really matter. I’m an insignificant blob of paint somebody dreamt up.

Like a work of Cubism, I am viewed from unnatural angles. Unrecognizable and ill-fitting amongst the more realistic paintings, I attract the eye of many a passerby. A moment passes. My viewers move on. No one cares to know the story behind the painting that is me.

The gallery goers pass through slowly in the afternoon. I stare at them, and they glance at me.


Taken with instagram

Tonight is just like any other night. I’m alone in my bed. As I lay still in the silence, waiting for the sleep I know will eventually come, my ritual is interrupted—

Steady droppings of liquid fall from the darkened sky and remind me of a different time. A time when we pushed two mattresses together to form one. A time when virtual Michael Jackson serenaded us into the new year. A time when you’d perform a concert for an audience made up of just me. A time when we shared champagne and kisses in our makeshift fortress.

As tears well up in my eyes, I think about the texture of your skin. The soft, warm skin that stretches over your eyes isn’t easy to forget. I imagine your unruly chest hairs rhythmically brushing against my cheek with your every exhale.

With nature’s percussion playing outside my open window and the memories of you replayed in my imagination I’ll sleep easily. That isn’t the issue though. The inescapable fate that befalls me is that these dreams fade when I’m awake.

Getting comfy in my Rachel Berry socks watching Glee. (Taken with instagram)

Getting comfy in my Rachel Berry socks watching Glee. (Taken with instagram)

Forgot how much painting sucks you in. 2 hours equates to… not much (Taken with instagram)

Forgot how much painting sucks you in. 2 hours equates to… not much (Taken with instagram)

My entire life I’ve been told, “don’t  trust anyone” today is not an exception. Silly French boys.. (Taken with instagram)

My entire life I’ve been told, “don’t trust anyone” today is not an exception. Silly French boys.. (Taken with instagram)

How bleak… (Taken with instagram)

How bleak… (Taken with instagram)

An escape for those who need one (Taken with instagram)

An escape for those who need one (Taken with instagram)

Yeah. I’ll admit it. I’m a shuffler.

So what? When I listen to music on my iPod, I shuffle it. It’s not that big of a deal! I’m the kind of girl who wants her music and wants it now. I’m that girl that refuses to sit in the awkward silence that comes when her friends want to “hand pick” an arrangement of songs for the 5 minute car ride. I think it’s ludicrous to spend precious minutes in a speaker-filled automobile frantically searching for the newest song on Pandora or YouTube. The best part of shuffle is that if the song that is playing (did I mention that the song was played completely wait free?) that I can simply press the next button and hear a new song. Take that YouTube!! All in all, during the last few seconds of a song, I’d rather feel completely safe knowing that Icarus, the little man who lives my iPod, has another song ready to play after a short five second gap. That’s what I call anti-awkward protection.

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