always seems like the second beginning of the year. I’m afraid of the time that it will no longer feel like something new. A start. A clean slate (or whatever other ~new beginnings~ cliché there is). 

This September is probably one of the numbered few remaining. 

I feel eternally sad


I feel like I’m in the wrong place - like everything I did I regret immensely right now. I don’t know what to do now. 

flowers will pretty much eternally remind me of my mom and her gardens - at least I hope they’ll remind me of her forever. 

we used to have two huge hydrangea plants by the side of the house in MD

When I went to Boboli gardens in Florence, I had one of those scent triggered memory association moments (is there a scientific name for that? I’m sure there is) - basically sometimes I smell particular scents, usually the faintest smells, and I remember things from my past - like the smell of rain/grass and elementary school days or flowers and my mom, or whatever. And whenever I see the freshly planted tulips in NYC in the spring or flowers anywhere ever, I think of the same thing. 

(via peone)

where things get sticky in the summer

I want to take this time to acknowledge the fact that I haven’t been thinking about the past very much lately and that seems like it may be more of a bad thing than a good thing, and then again, it may seem like neither bad nor good. And actually maybe more good than bad. I don’t know where exactly this is going. Sometimes I wish someone could read the things I write with the same intent with which we are engrossed in a really, really good novel. Where we pick apart the words and really consider what they mean in the grander context. The majority of my life, I felt like no one was ever really hearing what I was saying - and then people go around saying and thinking I’m really shy or introverted but the truth is I just don’t feel like I’m very important or that I should be heard most of the time. 

I feel really detached from the past and that scares me. Like I have nothing, no history, to grasp onto. I almost feel as if my memories have been very slowly dissipating and then suddenly, in the past year, without my noticing, decided to just *poof* disappear. 



Wait, I’m pretty sure that’s every fantasy I’ve ever had

(via -everdeen)

As a kid, you must have imagined what it was like to be an adult. Now that you’re a grownup (or becoming one), how far off was your idea of adult life?

I wonder now where this stems from, but I remember distinctly that as a 9-year-old in the 4th grade, I never thought about what it would be like to be an adult myself because life seemed so long that I was certain I would die or be killed before I reached high school. Somehow living to an adult age seemed like something only the very blessed got to see.