It’s been a little bit since I’ve written, sort of a mini-hiatus. It scares me to put my words on the internet, but other times it’s liberating. Isn’t that strange, the sensationalism of it? Sometimes I don’t know what I’m talking about. Other times I want to provide instructions, advice, reviews, all that sort of thing for complete strangers (hopeful friends) on the internet. This is a post just to say hi. I had some poetry in my head and I think it belongs there for now. I’ll go back to writing regularly; it’s for the health.
Author: distantcave
A writer studying psychiatry, and gardening on the good days.
Et puis, la conversation a été déviée par quelque chose.
The words left unspoken; the cherries atop the trees. They start bearing fruit in their fourth year. Your voicemails are magnificent, I wish I had more of them. To collect, to enjoy, to savor on grey, solid cold days. Inferences that don’t make sense. Tense phone calls, ending abruptly, then you call back again and apologize but you’ve already been forgiven. Because that’s just how this works, that’s just how this works. Don’t you know it?
Je sens son absence.
A mild test for the two of us. Minor sting, can’t wait to hear your variation. Happy smiles, chin up, fleeting ego. Lots of stopping, then starting again, but not as if driven by a motor. A repetitive scheme it is not. Far from. Far, far from. I miss you smiling at me. In the garden, in the parking lot. In the car, briefly to yourself, because I made you laugh so you hang your head and chuckle and I find myself going completely fucking insane as a result of that.
Elle rougit, détourne le regard, ses épaules s’affaissent.
noun blush plural noun blushes
- a reddening of the face as a sign of embarrassment or shame.
- another term for blusher (sense 1).
- a pink or pale red tinge.
- a wine with a slight pink tint made in the manner of white wine but from red grape varieties.
It was blush at first sight. Me, my products— him, his marvels. Spent evenings under the pale night sky; all was crisp, bittersweet, & hopelessly intangible. I never saw days like those. I never spent nights like that. Underneath the crystal-clear skies, we melted into ambiguous forms. We found ourselves feeling things we didn’t think we could again. Immersed somehow so very distant, he sings to me.
I didn’t want to turn this into a place for my writing but where else is a girl to go?
Cette entreprise constitue un défi de tous les instants et nourrit pleinement ses aspirations artistiques.
Catastrophes come to a close. For end matters, whatever works. Chase Bank ATM receipts by email, updates not installed. Because you’re just too. damn. distracted.
I don’t like to admit when my head is spinning. I don’t like to seem out of control. I don’t like to seem like I’m perfectly attached together. I don’t like to seem domineering and inherently a threat to the success of others. So this shallow space I’ll occupy, for the week, for the month– until it is time to give in. When is it ever the right time to give in? Shallow spaces.
I’m trying to decide what direction to take this writing space in– lifestyle blog, or personal blog. I will be doing a compare and contrast post regarding the two in my next post. I’m fueled with ideas, some may be knocked off, others more prized and intentional. I like the general voice I’m conveying my points and strings through, though. Isn’t that something, for me, to value and inherently find pride in? Not pride, something less all-eyes-on-me, more of a content nature.
I want to take an in-depth english class. and I am— soon! It’ll be online and while I’m in Russia, but it’ll hopefully cover literature I find relevance in my being towards. You feel like you can do that th anything, and when it comes to it there’s a disconnect, however minor, however pure. I don’t think I am great— I write in my own way, what if it’s all wrong? To read others’ works is to expand the mind.
The delightful treasures of life. Count them, take them in. Laugh at it all.
xo, Elle