I'm back today. I know that it's been awhile, and what else can I say other than I'm a socially awkward teenager and I've been trying to make friends. Kind of kidding, kind of not. So, summer, That's a thing that happened.
First off I want to say something. I had no idea that people actually read this.
(People actually read my blog, whaat?)
It's a dream, folks. I swear, every single person that has ever read this; thank you. I'm sorry that I haven't been keeping up; I don't exactly have any valid excuses, although, I have been keeping a personal journal throughout the summer.
Let me tell you this: my summer wasn't magical. It wasn't bonfires and romanticized evenings or long walks or any of that. It happened really fast, I can still remember the last day of my junior year and how eager I was to be a senior. And you know, I wish that it was; but, my summer was real. Summer was the beach in Galveston, covered entirely in seaweed and Maggie and I swam in the ocean anyway, it was eight-hour shifts at work, but I swear to you that I laughed harder during those times than I've ever laughed before. Summer was a one-way, three hour road-trip alone with me singing my favorite songs with every window rolled down, driving eighty down the highway with tangled hair. Summer was a hike in the mountains and ice-cream and a loft in the middle of Denver; a humid day spent in a hammock with a book and a journal by the lake; collared shirts, folded paper and brown eyes, stained jeans and dirty shoes.
Some things that I've realized & noticed this summer:
I love it when people comment on my eyes. It doesn't matter what the comment is, even if they're asking about the color. It's the number one way to make me fall in love with you.
I am so much more than I make myself out to be. I'm a writer, I'm a photographer, I am a genuine person, I have ambition. I am a hurricane of beautiful and terrible and vulnerable, I'm an artist and a friend and I fall in love with so many things and so many people all at once, and sometimes they're totally different and so much more wonderful than I could have ever imagined.
I care way too much about people. About their well-being, I want to know how their day has been and what makes them sad and what makes them smile and the worst thing in the world is when they leave me. Maybe it's on purpose, most of the time it's just life that gets in the way, but I can't stand losing the people that I'm used to seeing every other day; I've gotten to know them so well that I can recognize their voice in a crowded room and I can describe the exact color of their eyes.
I'll always be a procrastinator. No matter how many things I plan ahead, there's way too much inspiration and spontaneity in this world.
Everything is art. Those crappy sketches that I made the other day? Art. And you should only create art that means something to you.
Journals are really good for writing down feelings; I never imagined that I'd have so much.