Nocturne.

Now let the day just slip away
So the dark night may watch over you
Then the view silent, true
It embraces your heart and your soul, Nocturne

Never cry, never sigh
You don’t have to wonder why
Always be, always see
Come and dream the night with me, Nocturne

~”nocturne” as sung by Celtic Woman (though i love the version by Secret Garden as well)

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I keep this deliciously horribly tragical book by my bed (on my desk) and I am going to read it again. the first time I cried, and cried. because I’m obsessive like that, over Meriwether Lewis. He’s a hero, even if anti- belongs just before “hero”. I haven’t seen Doctor Who yet, but I know about TARDIS. And if I had it, you know where I’d go? Yeah.

i’m in one of those inexplicable moods where i want to write everything lowercase, because somehow it looks frank, like i’m turning down my collar or something. sort of thaws me out, after the long hiatus from blogging. sometimes i’m like that, silent, and i can’t explain it, even to myself. sometimes a mood swoops down and catches me and i don’t know what to say or do or how to react. like this mood, it’s a color, a tempestuous royal purple that you’d see mingled with fire at sunset, and it’s sort of easy to be caught up in the colors, but then you have to remember who you ought to be, and the goals in character development you try to reach for. aren’t we always reaching and trying and struggling and it always feels as if it gets us nowhere.

it feels.

i tend to put a certain [large] amount of stock in my feelings, their being my stake, my thermometer for the day, the atmosphere, for even interacting with other people. sometimes the feelings will shoot up, transforming into that warning crimson, and other times they will sink to the ice-blue, cause you to shiver as you go throughout the day and wonder when the world will become warm again. but sometimes the thermometer can be wrong, horridly wrong and confusing and everything is flying apart at the seams, sort of like a meteor implosion (and why am i using so many scientific metaphors. science is a malicious part of school amid all the fluff and glamor of lit. and history, philosophy, theology, blah, blah, blah).

it’s night and i’m tucked beneath my covers, typing on my laptop and liking how the air stirred by the fan brushes the tendrils on my neck. liking how late it is (the clock reads 11:01). nocturne perfects reflection.

*****puts in headphones and turns on Blue Monday by Flunke (from the Nancy Drew movie)*****

*************mind spins with influx of ideas***************

 

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