happy

I don't think I've ever seen the stars this bright.

If this is happy, if it is walking the dog late at night, admiring the stars and having someone look at you like that, then I get it. Then I absolutely and completely get it and I take back everything I've ever said. If happy is small wooden stars and words scribbled on the back of blurry photographs and smiles over smiles over smiles, then it all makes sense now. If happy is standing in a bunch of stinging nettle cuddling a dog, if it is burning your tongue on freshly brewed coffee, if it is fireworks a few villages over and excited laughter and fingers intertwining with yours then heck, why haven't I been stupid earlier? Because I've definitely been missing out. If I can be that happy just within a few hours, I can't wait to see how happy I could be in the future.

I don't think I've ever seen the stars this bright. I don't think I've ever had that weird, slightly twisting ache in my chest thinking about someone. I don't think, for the most part. I didn't have to. All I could think was "Happy. Happy. Happy."

If this is falling in love, then I'm so down for it. If it means I can keep this person, I am so so down. If this is what happily ever afters and fairy tales are made of, I get it I get it I get it and I. Take back. Everything. If someone can fill my heart and my mind with so much joy I get why people think they need someone else than themselves to be happy.
If happy is falling asleep next to someone, tangled sheets and tangled limbs, soft early morning light on cheekbones and freckles, smiles that break hearts, laughter that makes you want to die of happiness, singing in the car together, stolen kisses that taste of coffee, if happy is this, then holy hell, I want it all. I now get truly madly deeply and I want it all, I want every goddamn morning and afternoon and night I can get.
I don't think I've ever seen the stars as bright, or the rain as refreshing, or the red and orange and yellow of autumn leaves as intense as these past few weeks and I can't decide whether it scares or excites me. I think it's a bit of both; it's uncharted territory, and people like me with walls around them as if they were medival castles made to survive hundreds of years of attacks don't fall easily. Don't let go easily, let alone hold on to someone easily, but this? This feels good. It even feels right. It feels meant to be. I've never seen the stars this bright.

one, two, three, four, five

One. A kiss on her hand. Two. She leans in for a peck on the lips. Three. Our arms around each other, laughing, another peck. Four. Another one. Five. Six. She opens her mouth and so do I. Our teeth clash two or three times as we try not to miss each other's mouths. Seven. I bite her lip, she pushes her tongue into my mouth. Eight. We get braver. Teeth clash, tongues touch, we break apart again and again, bursting into laughter. Nine. I could do this all night. We're drunk and our kisses are sloppy, but I'm enjoying this. I know she won't remember tomorrow because she's already blackout drunk, but I don't really care. If I'm being honest, this is not about her. Sure, she's cute, and sure, I've wanted to make out with her a couple of times, but this? This is about kissing someone for kissing's sake. It could have been anyone at this point. Ten, eleven, twelve.

It's obvious. Her gaze holds mine captive whenever she looks up. Even when she doesn't I look at her. I smile, unconciously, and as soon as I notice I feel like an idiot. I feel everybody's nosy eyes on me, but when I look around everybody is preoccupied and probably don't even notice us. Even though you can see it, even though it's so obvious; I glow, when I look at her. I glow from the inside when her laugh is mine or she's so close to me that I can smell her perfume or her fingers intertwine with mine so thoughtlessly.

 

Her leg touching mine makes me hold my breath. Her hand on my neck makes me shiver. Her hair inbetween my fingers makes me thank every existent and non-existent god for those blissful moments. God, how much she means to me. Her every word makes me want to pull her closer and kiss it from her lips, everytime she moves I want to wrap my arms around her waist. God, how I adore her. I whisper my I love yous into the crook of her neck, when I trace the fine veins on her arms with my fingers, when she's sleeping safe and sound next to me, when she's in another room and the light hits her eyes at just the right angle and they look almost like the sea on sunny days, when she spills sugar all over the counter tops because she was laughing too much at one of my stupid jokes.
It's a miracle how you can love someone that much.

distance

In January, I wrote as an Instagram caption: "Sometimes the people you love leave to have big adventures, and it's hard and awful and hurts like hell to see them walk away for the last time for what feels like forever. Thing is, you still are incredibly excited and happy for them."

Distance sucks, especially when you don't really know how you feel about someone in the first place. Distance leaves a helluvalot of room for speculation, for wondering and for driving yourself mad. Still, distance kinda gives you the chance to think about someone while not being influenced by them that much. It gives you the chance to see how much you actually like and therefore miss them, and to take a better look at what you actually hope to be for that person.
Distance makes friendships a lot harder. Distance, especially the time-zones-apart kind of distance really makes you see how much time you are willing to spare to talk to someone, and how much of their time goes towards you when they're exploring and adventuring on the opposite side of the globe.
Distance somehow makes a reunion so bittersweet that it almost hurts. I have a couple of friends that live train rides that sometimes last three and a half hours away, and seeing their faces light up when they spot me on the train platform makes up for the months we were apart, and still it hurts because I know after these few days I won't see them again for months.

A friend of mine recently returned from a year abroad, another one from a semester. Friends of mine are going to university a few hundred kilometers away and while I don't want things to change, they will. They will change over time, the way you behave around each other will shift - whether that's awkward silence when you see each other again because you haven't been involved in each others life and it feels off to share the same space on this planet again, or it's the excitement that's been bubbling in you since you made plans to see each other because oh god I missed you so much come here I'll hug you forever.

A lesson I've only recently learnt: sometimes it's the best to just let something go. People, relationships, dreams, things. Of course you should keep fighting for what you want, but sometimes it's better for you and any other involved party to realize it's time to quit. Distance can help realize that and make the decision, but it also can make it a whole lot harder. You've managed to keep at least somewhat of a connection going, so it's difficult to admit that somehow the line ripped off and you can't talk to each other anymore.
Distance is a weird thing: it rips you apart and sometimes brings you back together even closer, but sometimes the gap of a few months and a couple hundred kilometres stays the same, even after you've seen each other again. I guess it's not the distance but what you make of it.

changing skin

1. The girl I am today is shy and silent
she's two layers of cozy sweaters
that are perfect to hide in
she's burning candles and crying in the dark
and sad songs drifting through the air
she's notebook scribbles and dreams;
the fragile princess of castles on clouds

2. The girl I am today is tough and cold
she's red lipstick and all-black
and "I don't believe in anything at all"
she's made from ice and rocks
she'll throw at you if you come too close
she's built her throne from blood and bones;
the heir of a kingdom of pride and fear

3. The girl I am today is sweet and kind
she's dresses made of flowers and rosy cheeks
and the one who kisses goodbye
she'll hug the nightmares away and show you heaven
full of sunshine and warmth like hers;
she's the light in your life and your heart
winner of the crown to your soul

4. The girl I am today, the one I was yesterday and will be tomorrow
is not a girl at all.
she's a woman as tall and brave and wise
as anyone could be
she's armors and battles and fires in winter,
fairy tales and comfort and life.
she's a goddess, a conqueror, a heroine.
a patron, a lioness with claws and teeth of gold
she's a warrior queen, guarding her kingdom
till the last breath passes her lips
and the one you love and fear;
but never yours, never yours at all.

I wrote this poem in December '14, realizing I don't have to be the same person everyday.

turning seventeen

I started typing this on my bed one day before my seventeenth birthday, thinking about the things that haven't happened to me yet.

I didn't get a Hogwarts letter when I was 11. That's fine. I can deal with it. There was no satyr to tell me I  am a half god. Well, that's cool too, seriously. I'm almost not sixteen anymore. I haven't started a revolution yet, nor overtrown a governement, nor do I have a sparkly vampire boyfriend, nor have I defeated an evil force that could destroy the world. As of tomorrow, I'd be considered an adult in the Wizarding World, and to be quite honest, it terrifies me.

I already am older than the main characters in my favourite book. Tomorrow, I'll be older than the main characters in most of the books I own, which is even more terrifying. I'm almost done with school, one year from now I'll have graduated and then I'm supposed to be able to take care of myself. I can definitely survive alone in our house for a few days. I can cook a few things, enough not to starve (maybe not enough for a balanced nutrition, but we'll ignore that), but completely being on my own and depend on myself? That's scarier than any horror film I've seen, and I've seen a bunch. 

I'm almost seventeen. Friends of mine have already graduted high school, friends of mine are already going to uni and being functioning adults, but I'm not sure I can be one. I've never actually lived on my own before. I've never mastered any instrument, though I've tried four up to this point.

While this probably seems very silly to most of you: I'm terrified. I am so afraid of the world that sometimes I think I'll never make it out of this small country village in the middle of nowhere, that I'll stay here forever and rot away between the fields and old houses. I'm terrified that I'm not good enough to make any difference in the world. That what I'll do won't matter, that I won't matter. I'm already almost seventeen, I haven't had any impact on the world yet and every day there's the chance that something horrible happens and I won't make it another year and then I wouldn't have done anything important yet. To say it with Orla Gartland: "I'm not sure I've got the heart for this."

But: in my almost seventeen years I've read well over 600 books, named at least 20 cats and one dog, travelled to four countries (not including my own) without my parents and finished writing two 100+ pages long stories. I've filled nine diaries, been published twice with very very short stories, I have made memories worth about 35 film rolls alone in the last three or four years, I've made a bunch of new friends in the past year, I've finally started to feel really good about myself. I finally cut my hair, after wanting to for maybe two years already, I've learnt that sometimes you just gotta. No buts, you just gotta do stuff. If I'd told my thirteen-year old self that one day before I turn seventeen I would still be here, that I'd be mostly happy and if not happy then at least content, she would have laughed, she would have thrown a few swear words at me and told me not to bullshit her. But I'm here, I'm fine, and while I might not have changed the world yet, I might one day, and, as much as the future scares me: I think I might actually gonna be completely fine.

on the streets of philadephia

The lovely Amy from Vermilion just finished her semester abroad at Penn State in Philadelphia. Her posts about the city made me miss my dear Philly even more than I already did, and the past months, I was reminicing more and more about the moments passed there. They're nothing more than snippets and scribbled words in old diaries in a handwriting I barely recognize as my own anymore, but they're still as clear and vivid as they were the very second I made those memories.

Stepping out of the airport terminal into a hall with a glass wall looking out on the highway and feeling such a sense of "I'm home" that I almost cried.

Me and a friend eating poptarts on a bench in Chestnut Hill, having just spent 2.95$ on giant erasors, enjoying the sun and fantasizing about opening our own bookshop/library/coffee shop somewhere on Germantown Ave. We'd definitely have a cat or two and a map on the wall where people could pin the place they're from.
Standing in Hideaway Music looking through the CDs and vinyls and soaking up the years and years of music embodied by all those plasic covers that went through so many people's hands.

Philly's lights at night as one of those yellow busses drove us back to a small church a few smalltowns over, the street lamps and windows and their reflections on Schuykill river, tears in my eyes caused by words about a god I didn't believe in spoken in the one church that makes me shiver more than any other, the aftertaste of spirituals sung between those wooden benches and stained glass windows, the black woman with the beautiful voice, the man who didn't stop playing the piano during the whole sermon, the 20-something year old almost-still-a-boy that was in charge of the churches choir with a voice range of at least eight octaves (he could sing everything from soprano to bass flawlessly).

Walking across JFK Plaza feeling so at home in a city I've never been to before, feeling so connected to every person passing, to every voice and every laughter I've heard, snapping a photo of the LOVE Sculpture I'd seen in so many Cold Case Episodes.

Stepping out of Reading Terminal Market just to hear an old man playing a guitar and his smile when he tells me "Thank you. You're gorgeous, princess." after putting a bit of money into his hat. (Thank you, dear old man, you have no idea how happy that memory still makes me feel.)

Street art next to churches on huge buildings and a woman telling us it's part of a project to keep the youth from the streets and from spraying senseless stuff on walls, Liberty Bell and Independence Hall and Washington Square, buying a way too expensive for it's condition second hand copy of Emily Dickinsons complete poems (it took me half a year but I read them all), two guys breakdancing in the middle of the street.

And above all, above every moment, every step, every conversation: the feeling of finally coming home after being away for too long. I don't know how my beloved Philadelphia did it, but the city that loves you back had me at hello, and it hasn't let go of my heart ever since, and it's been over three years now. So if you ever get the chance: go to Philly. Fall in love with it like Amy and I and probably everbody else who's ever been there did.

love at third sight

On New Year's one and a half years ago, friends introduced me to a mutual friend of theirs. We exchanged a smile and a few words and didn't see each other again for the rest of my stay there. I met up with the same friends at a book festival two or three months later, met a whole bunch of other people they thought I should definitely knew. We got along pretty well; how could we not with a mutual love for books and stories? They left my conciousness as soon as I stepped on the train back home. Another two months later said friends wanted me to join them at a fabric printing workshop and of course I let them convince me. Their mutual friend that they'd already introduced me to on New Year's Eve was there too.

We hit it off immediately. Once we really started talking to each other we discovered similarity after similarity. Within the first 20 minutes of getting our room ready, we had exchanged opinions about Heros of Olympus' Jason (we both detest him) and expressed our mutual love for Jacob Reckless and even more for Fox (both characters from Cornelia Funke's Reckless Series), we laughed our butts of the first day and all three or four of us fell asleep semi-snuggling that night. She told me I looked like Helena Bonham Carter (way to win my heart) and Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice, which lead to a hour long discussion about whether Dumbledore is a good man and whether Snape should be forgiven and about how freaking much we love Sirius like oh my god.

I call her my love at third sight now, because that's exactly what it is. Once we got to know each other, once we noticed that somehow our brains seem to work very similarly. Love at first sight is a pretty imagine, a nice dream for hopeless romantics. Even though an instant attraction is a fantastic thing I value my love at third sight more than I probably would value a love at first sight. Why? Because it means I almost missed an opportunity to make a great friend, but I didn't. I made that friend even though we didn't feel the spark the first time we saw each other. It took a bit of warming up but now we're good friends and I really like spending time with her. We could have easily not made this bond if we stopped trying, if we hadn't talked again and again after that first meeting even though we didn't feel like we're about to become partners in crime right away. We tried again, and tried again, and it took almost five months (though to be fair: we live quite a bit away from each other), but eventually we bonded. We didn't stop trying.
What I'm trying to say is, similar to this lesson i've learnt: just because you don't immediately become best buds with somebody, don't stop trying. You might miss a great friendship and don't get to know a pretty cool person.

soulmates

I didn't believe in soulmates for a very very long time. I didn't believe in the soulmate definition Disney shows and Fantasy Romance books portrayed. I didn't believe that there's someone you're just meant to be with, that there's someone on this earth made just for you, that will always love you unconditionlly no matter what. Still don't believe in that soulmate definition.
What I do believe in: there'll be people out there who understand you without you having to say a word. There's no explanation needed for anything. There won't be any judging, there might be a "I don't agree with what you did or think or want.", but there'll still be a "I'll support you if you think what you're doing is best for you, even if I don't agree with it." A soulmate isn't a person that was specifically made for you, who completes you or perfectly matches your jagged pieces. A soulmate is the person that makes you feel comfortable telling them every little detail they definitely wouldn't need to know, who comforts you when you're at your lowest and doesn't allow you to crawl into that pitch black hole of sadness, who lifts you even higher when you thought you couldn't reach more, who can tell you "I envy you for what you've accomplished. And I'm so goddamn proud of you." and you know what they mean. You feel what they mean. A soulmate is someone you don't even have to look at to know how they'd respond to that thought or how they'd answer that question, but you want to anyways.

My soulmate approached me one afternoon in the bus, asking whether that had been me in the library. I said yes, and from then on, things only got better. We'd fall asleep taking about the universe and how weird boobs are, her fingers in my hair and smiles on our faces. We can't finish a movie because we both love talking and every sentence said spirals into a conversation about anything and everything and we stop the film because we don't want to miss a scene but at the end we still don't know what it was about and I feel like I've learnt a whole new universe of things. My all-time-favourite picture of me was taken by her in my garden, my favourite conversations were between us two in the bus, not even half finished streams of conciousness when she had to get off. We always say we should keep a list of topics we want to talk about but haven't found the time to yet because the universe is full of things and questions and riddles and we want to solve them all. We wanted to solve the Da Vinci mystery when we were twelve, we wanted to travel the world together when we were thirteen, we wanted to go on every adventure we could possibly have. I wouldn't want anybody else by my side at my lowest, neither at my highest. I never had to explain myself to her. She just understands, she gets me with just a single glance, a single half-smile across the room. We can have conversations simply by excanging one look. There's never been awkward silence between us. We can sit in silence for hours but we don't for the most part because there's just so much to say, so much to tell.

To me, she always seemed like the better version of myself; our brains seem to work so much alike it's almost scary, and still, she amazes me with every word, every thought, every action. We think so similarly about things and still she opens my horizon with every conversation, every sentence even. She's so much stronger and braver and better than I am and I adore her. I love her so much I think it'd tear me apart sometimes. I've never had that kind of love for anybody else. I strongly believe that love is, for the most part, a choice and not an emotion, but she's never given me a choice. I never had the chance not to love her. I have a lot of difficulty describing what I feel for her because like I said, I've never had that kind of love before. She's special. She makes me feel so much and so strongly and deeply about so many things.

In the now five years I've known her I've learnt so much about myself due to her. I've learnt so much about loving people conditionally and unconditionally and about how to find a healthy balance between those two things, I've learnt how to evaluate whether a relationship or parts of a relationship are toxic or not and how to step back from these things, look at them and change them. I've learnt how to deal with my own and other people's hurt in so much more healthy ways and when I say this girl changed me in a way I could never have imagined, I'm not telling a single lie. No one has ever had me that determined to keep my promises, to tell the truth, to be a good friend and sometimes even a good person. No one has ever made me love them in this way I can't find words for - and I usually find words for everything. I won't stop talking, but the amount of times she made me shut up and listen already are many more than anybody else in my life will be able to.
What to take from this: love isn't always romantic. You can love platonically as much as romantically. The biggest loves I think I'll ever love aren't romantic - they're platonic. Another thing to take from this: soulmates aren't that person made just for you. Pretty sure those don't exist. Soulmates are the people you'd not only trust with your life but also with all of your heart. Soulmates don't have to be a romantic partner.
One more thing: If you find a person that breaks your heart with all the love you have for them, keep them.

about growing up and growing old

I have two big fears: growing up and growing old.

Let me explain: I'm afraid of growing up because I don't want to lose the childlike sense of wonder I've somehow managed to preserve the past 16 years, I don't want to take responsibility for anything or anybody else than myself, I don't want to have less time to do the things I enjoy because I've got to take care of my responsibilities. I am afraid that one day I can't turn on the TV any more to watch my favourite childhood show and enjoy it. I am incredibly afraid that my mind and heart will change and that I'll think of what I'm doing now as childish and stupid, that I won't value the friendships I've made during my childhood as much as I did now because we were just kids, we didn't know what friendship really meant. I am afraid I will grow out of these friendships, curse myself for spending so much money and time on train journeys to people, grow out of going to the supermarket in our free period and trying to find the most stupid thing they'd sell and laughing way too hard about one of us buying a five litre bottle of water and drinking it within the next three hours, of 11pm calls about TV-shows, of running through our school and laughing about everything and nothing. I am afraid that one day, these memories won't matter to me any more.

And here's why I'm afraid of growing old: every time I get out of my bed and hear my spine crack, I can't help but think about a time it will do so every third morning, then every other morning, then every morning and then one day I won't be able to get out of my bed on my own. I am afraid that my body will fail me, that my fingers will forget how to write, to braid hair, to fold paper dragons. I am afraid that one day I won't be able to remember how the dress looked my mother wore to her wedding, or how much bigger my father's hands were compared to mine, that I won't be able to recall my sister's eye colour, the way my best friend smiled, what my grandma's voice sounded like, that I'll forget the name of the girl I'd have given my life for – I am so afraid that not only my body, but my mind will fail me. My biggest nightmare is needing someone to take care of me, to remind me of my sisters name, my address, the year it is, who I am.
Time passing scares me so much. One day, I'll forget what the name of the boy in my drama club was, I'll forget what I wore the day that the person I liked hugged me weirdly, I'll forget the names of the sisters of the girl in my English class, how the teacher looked we always ranted about. One day, I won't be the same person I am now, and that frightens me more than anything.

 

((These photos were taken at the Clock Museum in Putbus, Rügen. If you're ever on the island, I'd definitely recommend going there! It's pure magic, and the lady who owns it is great and super lovely!!))

names and stories

I share my name with grand women. I share my name with great women, with brave women, with women who didn't give up to fight to get what they deserve. I share my name with rulers, with wise and kind women, with women who, somewhere on this planet, unrecognized, do things to make this earth a better place, without caring whether they will ever be thanked for it or not. I share my name with queens, writers, poets, actresses, politicians, artists, fighters - I share my name with women who did great things and who will do great things.

I recently realized that what I want is indeed the world - and I won't settle for less. I want the world, I want to see everything, know everything, love everything and I won't rest before I've achieved all of that. I want to read and travel and take photos and enjoy the beauty of this world. I want to help people, inspire them, change them. I want to be able to be a role model, I want to be strong and smart and kind. I want to make lives better, I want to gift love and be loved.

I share my name with five empresses, with forty-one queens, with six saints - I am more than just a little girl. I am a fighter, I am a warrior, and I will take what I deserve. This is why I file my nails sharp. This is why I paint them the colour of my enemy's blood I never got the chance to get my hands dirty on; because "girls are too fragile to fight". Because so many girls, real or not, didn't get their adventure, didn't get their Wonderland, their Neverland, their memories and fairies and thieves and pirates and stars. Neither did I.

(also: I am now officially on Bloglovin! Follow my blog with Bloglovin )

cathedrals

I'm not religious, wasn't raised that way, never believed in a god and probably never will. I sometimes envy the people that are capable of believing with all their heart. I'm pretty sure I've read somewhere religious people are happier than non-believers. I have a thing about churches; the atmosphere, the quiet inside of them calms me down no matter how excited or giddy or upset I was beforehand. I don't know whether it's the architecture, the stained glass windows, the smell of cold, old stone and wooden benches or how everyone else is behaving in a church that makes me feel the way I do. Maybe it's a bit of all of these things.

I have a thing about saints, too. Well, about one saint. I'm madly in love with Jeanne d'Arc. That might be because I carry her name, too - well, at least the German version. I remember when I was in first or second grade we had a box of little things in our classroom and when it was someone's birthday, that kid was allowed to pick a thing from that box. There was a lot of stuff in there, small books, boxes of coloured pencils, spinning tops, little toy cars and probably heaps of things I can't remember. One of the books was a square little paperback with a pretty cover called "Johanna von Orléans" - Jeanne d'Arc. Tiny me saw that book the first time it was someone's birthday and wanted to read it. I wanted to know the story of the girl in the armour, I wanted to know why she was kneeling on the floor with a sword in her hand, I wanted to know why the back of the book showed her tied to a pole, flames leaking from the pile of wood beneath her. I was intrigued by that book, by that girl that had my name. 

Now, here's the catch: my birtday is at the very end of the school year. Every time the box was taken out of the drawer I hoped that the kid who's birtday it was wouldn't choose that book. Every time they choose something else my hope grew. At the end of the school year the box was almost empty, and when it finally finally was my turn I didn't have to contemplate at all. I knew what I wanted. I'm not too sure now that so many years have passed but I think I've read it within a few days. I cried when Jeanne d'Arc was sentenced to death and I made place in my tiny heart for the girl who gave everything for what she believed in. In eigth grade we had to choose a région of France for a presentation we had to do in French class. I chose Centre-Val de Loire - capital of that région is Orléans.

When we went to France last October, we stopped in Reims to see the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Reims. We had been in the bus for at least 12 hours at that point, all of us tired and grumpy. The second I stepped into Notre-Dame de Reims, my mind was still. The windows at the other side of the nave were beautiful and while I tried getting a good picture of them I got closer and closer to them. Right beneath the window was a statue of Jeanne d'Arc. One of the heros of my childhood. The girl who fought. In my mind, I started a conversation with her. I told her about how she inspired me, about how she fascinated me ever since I was a tiny six- or seven-year-old. I stood there long enough for the others to catch up and then a bit.

We visited Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris too. Again, I was in awe - the stained glass windows, the atmosphere, the weight of history on every stone, every arch ... we wandered around, looked at the statues, at the ornaments, at a kind of beauty that was older than we could imagine. When we got to Jeanne d'Arc, I couldn't go another step. In my head, I thanked her for everything she'd meant to me. I lit a candle for her and stood infront of the statue long enough to get parted from the group. I was lost for a few minutes but eventually found the others again. In my thoughts, I was still talking to Jeanne.

someone new

There's this Hozier song called Someone New that perfectly describes what's happening in my brain when I'm out and about and watch people pass by. I fall in love with every single one of them, the way they walk or talk or brush their hair out of their face. I fall in love with the way they smile or frown or sip their coffee or get excited over that 10cents they just found. I fall in love with every little thing I see strangers do, and I start to imagine what would happen if I'd just spoke to them, introduced myself and said "You made me smile. Thanks." I don't. Obviously. I'm too shy, too sure they'd think I'm weird, too scared of talking to people I don't know.


But they made me smile. They made me fall in love with them, even though all I've seen was a snippet, a snapshot of a tiny second of their existance. I've fallen in love with more strangers than the number of friends I have, which isn't because of my small number of friends, but because I fall in love so easily. Weirdly, I only do with strangers. I've never been in love with someone I actually know. Maybe because I do know them. Maybe it's harder to fall in love with people you know because you know them so well, you know their every quality, each one of their mistakes, every thing they do that annoys you. Maybe it's just easier for me to fall in love with ideas than with people, with stories instead of humans.

I love big cities because every time I'm in one of them I get to fall in love with somebody every few seconds. I start to spin my stories around them, moments we'd have together if we spoke to each other, laughter, crying, I imagine bumping into them at the bookstore or at a café, if we'd like each other or not, I make strings out of my words and put the people into cocoons made from these words. I spin and spin and spin the thread around them until they're fully covered and maybe possibly evolve into something bigger. A friendship, maybe a thought that goes into a piece of writing, a snipped of a moment that makes me laugh, and maybe possibly something even larger. Maybe possibly they become a whole story. And so I fall in love just a little ol' little bit every day with someone new.

loveletters to no one in particular

I'll spend the summer daydreaming about you. I'll sit on the sofa, a glass of I-don't-know-what-kind-of-chemicals mixed with alcohol in my hand, a book in the other and I'll wish to inhale your scent that always tickles my nose when you're close, when you hug me. It's really nice. I'll imagine myself in your jumper, smelling you in my clothes. I'll imagine myself next to you curled up in a ball reading, holding your hand. I'll imagine you inhaling the smell of my shampoo that somehow manages to stay in my hair for at least the next three days when you hug me. You smell really nice. That's the worst part of your hugs - trying to inhale your scent within a second.

I'll spend the summer daydreaming about you. I'll sit in the train, my head leaning against the window, looking out, imagining your palm in mine and how our fingers would intertwine. I'll sit on the beach, sand between my toes, wind breezing though my hair and longing to see it ruffle yours. I long for your hands around my wrists, dragging me along unexpectedly and smiling at me when I roll my eyes. I'll fall asleep staring at the ceiling, reliving every smile you ever giftet me. I'll imagine and imagine and imagine until I'll believe I'm absolutely in love and so are you when I see you again. I'll spend the summer debating whether to send you a text or not, wanting to ask you out for coffee but never actually building up the courage to do so. Falling in love is a rather disgusting thing, and while I defend my heard and brain with teeth and claws you'll stand there and smile your sad, soft, warm almost smile. My body will refuse to move and then I'll fall, praying you intend on catching me. If you do, I already see myself leaning against you because you're always there, always present, my oak tree in the eye of the storm. And oh, how I long for your arms around my waist, your hands in my hair, your breath on my neck, my lips on your cheek. I just want you to look at me forever because your gaze has a certain sparke, a warmth, a promise in it that I cannot help to adore. Oh, how I adore you.

intertwining fingers

 I went outside on Friday because the weather was so lovely. It hasn't been that hot in a while, so I took the opportunity and a few photos. I noticed that our corkscrew willow already had buds, and then I noticed how the branches intertwined and I started thinking about humans.

Humans love to intertwine. Their lives, their thoughts, their fingers. I'm happiest when I can intertwine my fingers with my friend's and my thoughts with theirs. When I can curl myself around someone and share thoughts, snippets of moments, laughter. I'm not the only one who thinks that way; my friends love to intertwine, too. Fingers and hair, arms, everything. Pretty sure my friend group isn't the only one that's constantly intertwining. But why do humans do that? Why do humans intertwine? Is it the sense of security feeling somebody's skin on yours gives us? Is it the reassurance of knowing somebody is as insecure as you are, worries about the same things, relies on the same beliefs? 

Humans love to intertwine, whether it's in private or in public, in museums, at concerts, at home on the sofa, whether it's with other humans or animals or with ideas. We intertwine ourselves, our thoughts with things we think will protect us, guide us, inspire us and comfort us. We intertwine all the time, with everybody and everything, even if it's only our thoughts with their image in our heads. We need the contact with the whole world to be who we are; the only thing that really defines us is how we act around other people. Not our thoughts, not our wishes and dreams, what defines us is how we treat others. How we intertwine with them, how we make them feel. It's kinda magical, when you think about it. Simply by sharing thoughts, words, actions with people you can make them feel things, you touch their lives everyday simply by existing. Even if you don't think you take a active part in their lives you can change so much. Even if you don't notice it, you've had so much influence on strangers, on people you've intertwined your life with, people that intertwined their lives with yours.
Man, the thoughts I have when I stare at trees ...

a lesson about prejudices

A few years ago, I got the chance to participate in a young writer's workshop. I was beyond excited; five days spent with other kids that were just like me: passionate about words and stories and making people feel things. It was the best thing that could have happened to me.

Now: imagine me, a tiny, insecure 13-year-old walking into the seminar room, bursting with ideas. The desks in the room formed a U, the bottom of the U on the opposite side of the room from the door. The first thing I see are three gorgeous girls sitting at the bottom of the U, and the first thing I think is "Shit." In my world, the pretty girls are mean. That's what media's taught me, that's what society has told me, that's what I've experienced one too many times. All my hope for the next few days to be awesome and full of like-minded people shattered right there, right then on the dirty carpet and I prepare myself for a horrible time.

Fast forward: it's New Years eve. The empty wine bottle with the firework falls over in a narrow street. My hands reach for the person next to me. We try to make ourselves as small as possible when the firework explodes less then 20 feet away from us. Red and golden sparks fill the street and then it's over and everybody's okay and we laugh into the crooks of each others necks. My arms are around the waist of one of the girls that sat at the bottom of the U just a few months back.

It's july. We're staying at the summer house of someone's grandparents. I make pancakes for lunch and everyone loves them. We're laughing, a group of girls huddled around a table that's definitely not made for that many people. We're cooking for ourselves and if one of us wakes up way before the others even try to blink away the sleepiness she gets up and prepares the breakfast table. We walk about three kilometres to McDonalds at midnight just for the sake of it and eat ice cream. The girl that invited us all there sat at the bottom of the U almost a year ago.

Less than a week later I wander around old buildings and castles with two girls and we find beauty and laughter in every flower, every bridge, every stained glass window. We sit on an inflatable boat and eat Swedish biscuits and I am fascinated by the river locks. I fall asleep at night with their hands in mine and we sit in bathtubs bigger than any I've ever seen and plaster our faces with masks that make us look like ghosts. One of them sat at the bottom of the U.

 

It's december again. We're in a cellar at the gig of a band I've wanted to see for months now but somehow never got the chance to. We're cheering and clapping and dancing and singing. The lead singer looks gorgeous on stage and her voice is so beautiful it makes me shiver. Next to me is a girl that clings onto my arm and laughs in my ear and I am so in love with this moment and these people. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. The girl on stage and the girl next to me both sat at the bottom of the U more than two years ago now and they're two of the dearest friends I have. Now I know so many people in the town they live in that I feel some kind of "I'm at home" as soon as I step out of the train and hear them shout my name from the other end of the train plattform, as soon as I run towards them and hug them.

As much as they've taught me in the now almost three years I've known them, the most important lesson I've learnt was when we sat at a tiny desk in their room at the workshop, pens in hand, trying to rhyme "shit" with something: your prejudices could keep you from making new friends. Don't trust your brain with what it wants you to believe when you meet new people, get to know them. Most of the time, they're bloody amazing.

about creating (and a small introduction)

My room smells of sea salt and lavender, Ed Sheeran is on repeat and my sister is sitting on her bed laughing about something I don't have the fainted knowledge of. The sunset's covered by clouds but it's still light enough to see every single tree outside my window. My brain is buzzing with thoughts and unfinished sentences and words that try to find each other, with feelings and tastes that want to be put into a story. My fingers ache while flying over the keyboard, begging me to write write write and finally get all these thoughts out. I can't. There's a wall between my thoughts and my hands, keeping me from spilling them all over a page or a screen and it's the worst feeling in the world; wanting to create, to build cathedrals out of words but not being able to. 

The hardest thing about writing is wanting to write, but not being able to. You sit in front of your computer, or notebook, or typewriter, or whatever you put your writing on, and the words in your head try to put themselves right in the middle of your mind, and there's so much you want to say, but you can't. The hardest thing about writing is not being able to write. I don't mean not being able to physically put words on a page; I mean not being able to find anything that sounds right. Not being able to find just a single thing you want to write about without having to stare at the screen or your notebook for hours trying to figure out what exactly it is you want to say, what words make you feel just the right way. I currently feel exactly like this. My head is spilling over with words I don't know where to place, there are so many things I want to say, but I don't know how. I've typed a few hundred words already and deleted them again, I've almost thrown my hands into the air and sighed “I give up!”, but I know I won't. If I stop now, I won't be able to pick up again soon. I'll just dig myself deeper and deeper into the pit of not-saying-what-I-want-to-say, so I write, even though the chance I'll delete this later is so big it almost is pointless putting the words out anyways.

Hello. My name is Liz. Pleasure to meet you.

I decided I needed a new creative outlet, so this is what this blog will be; a place to put snippets of thoughts that aren't quite big enoug for stories yet, pieces of writing I want to shout out into the world, photos of things I like and don't know where else to share them and probably mostly ramblings and gibberish. The main reason for this blog is that I seriously need to get creative again. I've spent the past few months complaining about how I don't find the time and energy to get all the ideas and words I have out of my head, so this is it: my chance to stop complaining and doing something again. I need to start making time for my art again, and I hope to share the process from here to productive-me with you on here.