An Ode to a Sleepy Town

 A little after Alex & I came back home from Savannah I've missed spending all day with him. I've missed waking up whenever we felt like it. We woke up to the sound of a thousand birds greeting us as we slowly opened our eyes, limbs still entwined. We'd get dressed and head down to the coffee shop nestled right on the edge of Forsyth Park. We'd walk through the park, holding hands and commenting on the ridiculous things we'd see. Once we reached Sentient Bean we'd order our lattes and do one of two things; read our books, or talk. It's not much different from what we do at our coffee shop at home, but it was definitely laced with a different feeling - a feeling that kept whispering that somehow this sleepy town felt like home.

It is in these moments...

There is something about him. Something that makes me want to tell him everything. Every bad morsel, every good moment, every  little   secret. This is different for me; this willingness to remove the skeletons from my closet, this act of sharing the darkest parts of my soul. Perhaps the comfort to do so lies within his smile and how he manages to create a safe place for me to flourish, to feel open - to feel alive. And it's an odd and peculiar feeling to look into his eyes knowing that he accepts me. It is in these moments that I am left feeling open and alive.

New Orleans Can Have My Bones

I've spent the past few nights dreaming of the streets of New Orleans, again. The smell of chicory and beignets. The sounds of music in the streets.

I sleepily recall Jackson Square at 6AM. It was in that moment, as I over looked the river, that I knew I never wanted to leave. That place pulls at my heart strings, grasps at my soul and settles into my bones.

I remember walking through every corner of that parish, in search of missing pieces, and every time I leave another piece of my soul gets taken away from me.

Dear New Orleans, you can have my bones.

An Ode to the Stunning Sky Above

When I was younger I used to sneak out of my bedroom window just to stand outside and look up above into the abyss of night. The stunning sky above, filled with a million stars steadily illuminating the hours of darkness, calmed me in a way that nothing else could. In those moments I was infinitesimal, surrounded by an engulfing quietness that the world can only offer after the sun has gone down. I felt apart of something bigger than myself, I felt whole and alive – and with that came an immeasurable realization of the beauty and chaos of what life truly is.

I still wonder what the night sky must have looked like two hundred years ago, with no ever-present glow of electricity or haze of pollution to cloud the view of those too-bright stars, and
how overwhelming it must have felt to look up and see something so beautiful that it hurt to know how out of reach it truly was. And it’s strange to me because I want that//// I want to feel that feeling of being so incredibly small that nothing and everything matters all at once.