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my hummingbird, sing to me
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Sometimes I recall a memory and the feeling I had in the moment I’m remembering washes over me for only a brief overwhelming second.
Then I spend the next few days trying to have a taste of that past feeling again. It gives my skin the weirdest combination of goosebumps and tingles. 

why in the night sky are the lights hung

two young boys all dressed in white
ran from the mountain, away from the sprite
and the two tall trees up on the hill
sheltered the youngest; safe from the chill
so he played his music with his head held low
whistling tunes that she once bestowed
the sun swiftly fell as the moon took it’s place
casting it’s glow upon the wolfs face
tired and famished, they emerged from the forest
sprinting through wheat, flying like bullets
they climbed into bed and turned out the lights
exhaling relief all through the night

the days, they pass by
with amazing discontent
it’s death in disguise 

septemberistic said: bon iver video.. At first I thought he did something bad in the past & it was a form of self punishment. Don't ask why I just got that vibe. But then I thought even though he was unappreciated by people he still went out & watched over them everyday

yes! I’ll have to watch again and look for that, I should have watched it twice before I wrote up that long thing. I kind of took the idea and ran with it. Plus I was eating while I was watching, so that took my eyes away from it a bit. Gotta watch it again. Thank you for your contribution! I really like trying to figure out exactly what an artist is trying to say, I’m Jillian by the way! 

flowymind:

I needed this. I had to come here to realize there is so much more, and this is not it.
It was necessary I sit in this room for a few months; brooding, planning, tossing, turning, screaming. Pulling out my hair, feeding the persistent thoughts of departure. It’s in this unsymmetrically dressed room I ripped the quiet yearning from it’s hiding place. Oh, it has been there for a while. I’ve been kicking at it, locking it in an obedient box, listening to voices of people who don’t know. Don’t know. No one seems to know. You know. You helped me reach this point. Without you, I’m afraid I would be listening still.
And now that I know, I can’t sit still any longer. I needed this, but not anymore.
Now I need you and this disappearing campus; standing still as we move forward. 

I want to have stories to tell when I’m older. 


This is yet another vintage find that I will be putting up in my dorm room. My mom, my sister, and I went to a local thrift store (Miss Minnies) and I found several of these old ripped out pages. I chose these two (other animals are on the back) and my mom and I bought two 11x14 dark wood frames a few days later. We mounted the vintage pages on periwinkle mat board and voilà! Of course I was curious about the origin of these babies, so we deciphered the signature of the artist and I used the power of google to find out more. The book is called “Friends of the Forest” written by Frank North Shankland. It was illustrated by Fern Bisel Peat and published in 1936 by The Saalfield Publishing Company. My deceased grandmother was born in 1931.. These photos are almost 3 generation’s old. 
blacktintedsea said: oh gosh, I adore your blog! you have such a good taste in things! which music do you listen to?

Wow thank you! :D
I’ve been listening to Husky a lot lately. But my favorites are Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, MGMT, Foster The People, Sea Wolf, Lana Del Rey, Metronomy, Passion Pit, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr., Beach House, The xx, Bombay Bicycle Club, Grouplove, Florence + The Machine, Reptar, The Shins.
Also, I’ve just heard of this guy named Benjamin Francis Leftwick, so I’m still determining if he is worthy to be on my list of favorites. c:
Sorry I just sent you so much music! But thank you again <3 


I bought this fox photo from an antique store the other day, thinking it&#8217;d look nice on my wall. It was in a rusted frame, so my mom and I were in the process of transferring the photo when we discovered it was, in fact, a postcard from 1984. There&#8217;s a sweet note written on the back to a lady named Sharon, but the postcard was trimmed in order to fit in a frame, so  some of the words are cut off. The postcard is from an exhibit at the Smithsonian Institution. It&#8217;s called Red Fox&#8212;On the Prowl.I found the original online. When I bought the photograph, I was under the impression it was a white fox. Now that I know it&#8217;s a worn down, weathered, red fox, it has so much more meaning.

It’s always so strange when I’m acutely aware of myself changing. Most people would claim they change gradually over time, so it’s almost undetectable to themselves until reflecting.
No matter how much I want to be independent, and isolated, relying only on myself for company; it’ll never work. I often take months of solitude. The first couple of weeks are nice; I become perfectly in tune with myself, and it’s always a time of constant creation. The last weeks (which are the last weeks for this very reason:) are detrimental to my health. I begin looking too deeply within myself, and over thinking my every move, trying to find a reason for everything.
People are my antidote. And I realized this when I was high. Way too high. So go figure. Interaction brings me back to this world. It’s okay to go on vacation every once in a while, but I tend to overstay my welcome.

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