It was raining when we crossed paths. I was standing all alone under the grey clouds, enjoying the pitter patter music of the raindrops on my skin, trying to wash all the tangled emotions I had bottled up.
Then you came out of nowhere to offer me your umbrella.
“No, I like it better like this.” I had said.
“But lady, you will get cold if you stand there like this any minute more.”
This is funny cuz even if your voice was rough and husky, it had managed to creep under my skin and calm the whirlwind of emotions.
In that moment, I felt anything but cold.
It was the season of fall when we crossed paths again. You smiled a goofy smile; that’s when I felt the butterflies.
The wind blew past us making the dry leaves fall on the ground. I took a few steps closer, crushing the dry leaves in the process to have a clear vision of your features.
You had this dark brown orbs which glistened under the sunlight.
You had this red ruby lips with some coffee cream at the corner of your lips.
“Mr, you have something on your face.” I had said.
“I know, but I like it better like this.” You had said with a wink.
In that moment, I felt nothing but gazillion butterflies in my stomach.
It was new year eve. We were gazing at the stars somewhere from far away the hustle and bustle of the city. It was the perfect moment to tell you about something.
“I think I am falling for you.” I had confessed.
I could see the blush you were trying so hard to hide.
I entwined my fingers with yours, sealing your lips with mine whilst the night sky performed a fireworks display in the distance.
“This is forever.” You had promised.
In that moment, I knew this was anything but a beautiful dream.
They say summer is the season of warmth.
It is the season when crops are grown, buds are bloomed to beautiful flowers.
It is the season which allows people to spend a great deal of time outdoors.
Then why do I feel like this?
Why do my heart has to crumble into pieces for the millionth time?
Why do I feel like sharing our heartbreakingly beautiful story to this diary which was kept untouched for god knows how long will erase all my pain caused by you?
Maybe that will always remain a mystery I will never be able to solve.
But all I know at this moment is that- I feel nothing but numb and cold.
On a day, alack the day! Love, whose month was ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, 230 Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseen, gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath, 235 ‘Air,’ quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alas! my hand hath sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Vow, alack! for youth unmeet: 240 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were; And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love.’
I’m going to find you a planet. There won’t be too much sand or constant rain. The skies will be deep purple and the sun will never feel too bright. The plant life will always seem slightly damp and dewy, like it’s covered in beads of water, and the leaves will glitter when the wind blows. The storms will all be windy in nature, and we’ll have a sturdy house that’s low to the ground, where these storms can be safely avoided. In fact, our house will be partially underground, with high windows and a stone chimney.
Ren is beaming down at the paper as he continues to write, the words coming easily now. He’s not making this up. He’s not good at inventing things, really. That’s Hux’s department.
Observation, therefore: This is easy to write because it’s a vision of the future.
Sleeplessly I watch over the spring night— but no amount of guarding is enough to make it stay. (Izumi Shikibu, Japanese poet of the mid-Heian period)
A spring night, made of blossom, moonlight, and the whisper of the wind in fresh green leaves is fragile by its very nature; trying to grasp it in its floating splendour is a vain effort. But its spirit is persistent—so much so that sometimes in mid-winter we catch a sudden whiff of cherry petals bathed in moonlight.
Top to bottom, left to right: Tsuchiya Koitsu, Benkei Bridge, 1933 [source]; Tsuchiya Koitsu, Spring Moon at Osaka Castle, 1932 [source]; Kawase Hasui, Spring Evening at Inokashira Park, 1931 [source]; Kawase Hasui, Spring Evening at the Tōshōgū Shrine in Ueno, 1948 [source]; Kawase Hasui, Night View of Cherry Blossoms at Koganei, 1935 [source]; Kawase Hasui, Tochinoki Hot Springs in Higo Province, 1922 [source].
It’s a good day when the palm tree leaves are rustling outside because of wind, when you’re tucked in bed with a cute bookmark reading Romeo and Juliet with a cup of tea, when you light a candle and feel warm n cozy inside with The Script playing in the background.
I want to explain about the Catullus poem (101). Catullus wrote poem 101 for his brother who died in the Troad. Nothing at all is known of the brother except his death. Catullus appears to have travelled from Verona to Asia Minor to stand at the grave. Perhaps he recited the elegy there. I have loved this poem since the first time I read it in high school Latin class and I have tried to translate it a number of times. Nothing in English can capture the passionate, slow surface of a Roman elegy. No one (even in Latin) can approximate Catullan diction, which at its most sorrowful has an air of deep festivity, like one of those trees that turns all its leaves over, silver, in the wind. I never arrived at the translation I would like to do of poem 101. But over the years of working at it, I came to think of translating as a room, not exactly an unknown room, where one gropes for the light switch. I guess it never ends.
I am a garden and every vine in me
is overgrown. I fumble trying to make
sense of the dandelions growing
in my chest. I bend, I climb through roots,
bright white spines that glow in the night.
I trip on all the things I can’t let go of
until I am glowing too. The things
you can’t let go of never really let go
of you either. They stain your earth
until everything after grows from it.
I have realized I could stand tall as a tree
and still shake in a northern wind.
The leaves in me would rustle,
the twigs in me would threaten to break.
I’ve had a good run; around 5 years and a little over 4.5k followers. However; I simply don’t need this blog anymore. It used to be my safe space, but now that I’m well down the road of recovery and absolutely not looking back, I don’t need it as much. Also, this place tends to spread a lot of negativity, and I’ve realised it’s tricked me into thinking I’m still having negative thoughts.
I also really need to start focussing on my hobbies again. I’ve finally gotten back into books which I used to read all the time, and I want to get back to writing. This place is honestly such a source of procrastination for me, but school is getting serious again and I can’t afford to waste my time like this.
If you want to see what I’m up to, you can follow me on Instagram @teenage.fbi or Twitter @ folieadaisy. If you would like my snapchat, message me off of anon. I’d love to stay in touch with some of you!
If we’re mutuals, then feel free to ask for my kik. I’ve made some great friends here and I’d hate to lose touch with them.
I want to thank everyone who’s followed me and been supportive, especially this time last year when things got really bad during my GCSEs and I was a wreck. I’ve come so far and this blog has also really helped me to develop my interests and meet new amazing people.
Feel free to unfollow now, I’ll be deactivating in a few days.