philomela

i have a fantastic memory. like the time we went and saw the butterfly garden. and it was too bright to really see anything but color and butterfly silhouettes. i really loved that. but i can't much remember you that day. i'll remember what i know to be true of you always; dismissive, passive, even your half smiles were in vain. and i was too in-love with the setting to bother.

the jagged warmth of light and the charles river just outside the window, butterflies batting their wings at the glass to be free. i asked the keeper if their torn wings would repair from the trauma. he told me no, they simply died. how scientific.

i truly live in a fantasy world sometimes. sometimes it throws me under the wheels.

last night i had a dream about a boy (whom i repeatedly dream about). the details are vague. he was laughing and smiling and all blurry and beautiful. but this time, my waking mind didn't think "please be real, please be real" - it thought "STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT"

i'm tired of these things never coming to fruition. i need to learn the hard line between reality and make believe.

especially the story, The Man on the Stairs


probably the most refreshing summer drink you could have. i'm thinking an aranciata with a spinach salad and balsamic vinaigrette sounds like the perfect meal.


i'd really love a print of this Andrew Wyeth painting. i can't pinpoint what it is about his paintings that i really love. but i do love them.


it's officially the summer in my mind - as i went swimming during last weeks obnoxiously hot heat wave!
isn't my room obscenely pinkish?

i should have posted this when i got it - but here i am in my hopefuls shirt. the neckline does me justice!