Streetlights

streetlights (through tears)  
the reds and greens and yellow lights yawning through the dark night.  
curled up in bed, I trace patterns in the fogged up glass, fingertips growing cold.
outside (automobiles)
splashing away puddles, some more viciously than others.
a woman pulls up to the pharmacy across the street, and rushes out,
pulling her hood up
perhaps fetching medicine for a sick husband, or a package of barrettes.  
a lover's squabble, a movie picked up for three, or bagels for the morning's breakfast:  
       another night.  
tracing patterns on the glass.  palms to flushed cheeks.
never realizing this love, through tears, of the night.   

lillian rachel.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   


I've been particularly enjoying the use of my dad's 50mm f/1.8 lens, but my arms aren't quite long enough for variation if I'm taking shots of myself.  ;)

I've been reading Moby Dick for school, and I really enjoy it.  Next time you don't know what to read, try to spend some time on it, he is funny, and interesting, and his thoughts on life are really lovely.  There's a reason this is such a famous book.
"With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote.  I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts." 

I've been writing at least three pages a day, which has been wonderful.  Bits of life, random thoughts, a diary of sorts.  Just words on a page to start my day.  So good for me.

Sometimes I like to write things on my arms, or hands, or wrists.  Not really notes and such, but verses and encouragements, and things that I want to remember each moment of the day.  Right now I have still the greatest treasure like the words from the song Come, now is the time to Worship.  Where it says "still the greatest treasure remains for those who gladly choose him now"  Our greatest treasure right now, is knowing God.  I forget that all the time.

lr.         

Deep and Wide

 

 how deep the father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure

 it was an incredible feeling, to step up to the very edge of the canyon and peer into the expanse. 

my family is goofy.

we witnessed a proposal too. 

happy sunday. 

lillian rachel

p.s.  I just want to say thank you each for your kind comments, they make my day that much more special.  I love hearing your thoughts and nice words.  So thank you. 

Heavy Light

"the way in which they treat the waiter/waitress
how they feel about the weather
whether they dog ear pages or highlight in books
fingernails
and hands in general
their preferred creative outlet
how much they dread/enjoy talking on the phone
whether or not they drink coffee
if they ever forget to eat
how honest they are with themselves (and others)
if they correct your grammarand whether or not they get nervous before haircuts." from here via her

I don't usually like ordering food.  It's awkward and sometimes I forget what I was ordering the moment I hand my menu away and try to say what I want.  I try to be nice, and mostly because I'm bad with math and I think weird cents is an odd tip I usually tip well.  But I don't really go out by myself that often ever.  

Depends on the weather.  I like dark, and clouds and rain a lot.  But I live in sunny colorado, so I complain about sunshine a lot.  Which is a terrible thing to do, but it makes me sad when the sky is so persistently bright.  I wish for clouds and dark and being able to take a breath and listen to music.  When the sky is bright I always feel obligated to love it, but I don't always.  I suppose it's weird how sunshine can make me feel guilty.  

I don't always write in books, but in the really good ones, and in school books I underline and highlight and write and dog ear books.  I fold over the corners in library books too.  Maybe it's something against bookmarks, those bulky things, but probably more because I'm lazy.  But I do love books with other people's notes.  I bought used books for school this year for that particular reason.  I wanted to hear what other people thought when they read what I am now reading.  It makes me happy.  

My fingernails are always short, because when they get long, I'll probably pick at them.  It's a terrible habit and I hate it, so short nails it is.  Right now I don't have nailpolish on, but if I did it would probably be a dark dusty purple or almost black purple.  

In general, I don't think of my hands much.  My laptop heats up awfully, so my palms get sweaty as I type sometimes.  I wash my hands a lot because I hate sweatyness or stickyness or things like that.  But I don't really like hand sanitizer, it feels eerie, the cold meltyness.  I've been told my hands are soft though.

I love to capture everything around me in pictures.  Each little moment of beauty.  Color, space, laughter.  And when the light is dark, I like to write.  I like to write about emotions and circumstances of things I imagine, though I seep into all my writing.  When I feel like I don't care, and I can do anything, I like to play guitar, but I'm at such silly beginning stages of "playing" guitar that I have to have courage or I give up.  

I don't mind talking on the phone, but if I'm going to see you in a few minutes don't try to tell me a funny story or ask me about my day, I just don't get that.  I always try to confuse telemarketers, and so far, it's been proven that they hang up if you answer the phone with "Mike's Pizzeria, how may I help you".

I don't really drink coffee that often.  Only sometimes, and I prefer Hazelnut coffee at the one bagel place in this cool little town near where I live.  I usually get too jittery if I drink it, and I don't really like super hot beverages, so it's not really my thing.  But I really like the smell of it, and it does taste pretty good.  

I don't really forget to eat, I just only eat when I'm hungry.  But yes, I guess I do forget to eat sometimes. I just snack all the time, so it doesn't really matter.   

I try to be honest with myself, but I think that I am constantly fooling myself.  Maybe?  I wish that I could have an outside view of how I look.  I wish someone could tell me exactly how I look or what they think of me.  It's a big thing to me.  I'm not very good at being honest to people in general, I am vague and smiley, especially if something is wrong.  I have pre-answers, and I don't really care to share my deepest thoughts with a lot of people.  But I'm as honest as I can be with the people I love the most. The people who understand me, know what I mean.  

I tease people a lot, and certain people I'll correct their grammar just to be annoying.  Some things I correct out of habit now I guess, but my own grammar is not flawless in the least so it's a bit silly.  

I don't get nervous before haircuts, It's neither scary or exciting for me.  If I'm getting a big change, like when I cut my hair shorter than my brother's hair, I'll be a bit excited.  But I don't get nervous.  I don't really like haircuts, because it's weird being all chatty with this woman who I barely know, but who knows me because she talks to my mom a lot when my mom gets her hair cut.  It's easy to be fake and smiley there which is weird.  

So I guess this is a fairly accurate picture of me.  But I'm a bit more heavy than happy right now, so I guess that affects who I think I am.  Sometimes I do like talking to strangers.  But right now I wouldn't.  

writing.  laughing.  answering(this is super fun, katie interviewed me!)

lillian rachel.

This is life

She trailed her fingertips along the book spines.  Gently, urgently. 

She could not see his face, but with each book she could remember his smile, as he told her about a certain line, a certain quote.

She even yearned for the books she had not loved,

for the fact that he had loved them first.  She stopped and felt the pages of one, knowing where her tears had dried 

on the (worn pages).

She remembered his comforting words (late of night). 

And the smiles that had been shared, like their own perfect jokes. 

But each book brought reality. 

Of the distance that yawned between. 

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some words i wrote.