autumn

sylvia mann, tom lander and jake cooper by bell soto

we spend the majority of our lives waiting; waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to end, waiting for something to begin. that ‘something’ is most definitely life itself and why are we waiting? why do we wait for something that is blatantly and inevitably right before our eyes? why do we choose to ignore life? are we afraid of it? i think we are. we fear, yet we lust over the idea of the unknown, yet the fear takes its toll and we are left, waiting. it’s not fair, is it?

quiet - rachael yamagata (live at KCRW)

"what if i was someone different in your only history? would you feel the same?"

"i can never say what i want to say. it's been like this for awhile now. i try to say something, but all i get are the wrong words; the wrong words or the exact opposite words from what i mean. i try to correct myself and that only makes it worse. i lose track of what i was trying to say to begin with. it's like i'm split in two and playing tag with myself. one half is chasing the other half around the big, fat post. the other me has the right words, but this me can't catch her."

- Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

reminiscing of summer 2010

when i'd lie next to you on the velvet, emerald grass adjacent to my front porch and gaze endlessly at the starry sky every night and shine flashlights in each others’ faces until we'd blink and our eyelashes fluttered simultaneously. when i'd take long exposures of you sitting on the very edge of the pavement with fluorescent yellow and white headlights beaming luminously across your face and you would be lost amidst a sea of shadows from the tall evergreens across the street that swayed back and forth in unison. when i'd race you down the street until we'd stop to catch our breath as we faced oncoming traffic and people in cars stopped and subtly observed our youthful expressions longingly as if they wished that just for a second, they could be with us. when i spent the night laughing aimlessly with you until my ribs ached and tears began to stream down my face until we forgot precisely what we were initially laughing about. when we'd listen to phoenix’s rome on the bus and shamelessly attempt to lip-sync each lyric whilst receiving menacing stares from fellow strangers alike. and even though i know you’ll come back, i’m really, really going to miss you.















it’s sad how distance can change everything. summer’s gone, but it will come and go; autumn’s shortly made it’s appearance, and it will come and go. and you, you will come and go as well. i always walk by your house on my way home from school, the one you spent your entire life in and nothing ever stays the same, does it? i remember for five years, we walked to school and back together and you’d tell me how much you despised high school and how you wanted to leave and in time, the day you’d leave, your entire life would change. i knew you were right, but i didn’t want to believe you, because i knew you were afraid. you think these things will last forever, until you realize that you cannot hold onto forever, because it’s already here.

kirsten dunst and jason schwartzman by gia coppola and tracy antonopoulos for opening ceremony