rylie

And It is sometimes that I see myself and wonder, and I can't help but give a little smirk. That secret smirk that teases me and plays on my lips. And we have always known each other and though she has always been such a friend to play with, she's always had that underlying knowledge that though she is mine to play with, I am not hers. She is a part of me, but belongs to someone else.

When sometime's I see past it.

Contemplation, something in which I am possessed and ruled with. Though I have brought it up before, it never gets less surprising when I get there. Here. The place in which my fingers dance, not quick enough to keep what is flying on the ground, but steady and restless, all at once. While things aren't let to get any different, the changes are blossoming and that smell is filling my nose and it's sweet, oh so sweet. The smell of lilacs has always made me particularly happy. The connection I draw back to not the bushes, but the lilac trees that my childhood backyard held as an umbrella of unyielding shade to my afternoon tea with Ruff, my teddy bear.

Contemplation. I fully blame Xaq for getting me in this mood. The casual reminder of Portland and the comfort that I conditioned myself to link with it.
The idea of home.

I've gotten oddly sentimental. I find it strangely unbecomming and it is seeming covering my skin with a coat of dust.

Volumninous.