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i am nostalgic for wHen the world had weight. when memories weren’t just saved but heLd.
receipts folded like secret letTers / coins scraped together in sweaty palms / counted twice - just enough for ice cream.
i miss the peRmanence of ink on paper / the way library books carried the scent of stRangers / the way a handwritten note felt heavier than a hundred unread messages.
there was something reAl in the effort.
rewinding a cassette to hear your favorite song agAin / flipping through photo albums with smudged fIngerprints / taping concert setlists to bedroom walls - as if pinning the moment in plAce.
now things slip through fingers like liGht.
tickets are qr codes, letters are piXels,
memories exist in the cloud, weightless and waitIng,
but never quite ours to hold.
Feb 22, 2025
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⭐even when i least expect it, it's always lingering.
waiting for
when this song sounds better bouncing off the walls in my childhood bedroom,
when running barefoot on the grass is something i yearn for,
when the corners of my posters start to wilt,
when the friends i made feel so far away,
when i grasp for the memory i thought i had yesterday,
and when running back home means no one is going to wait for me on the other side of the door
i just wish it didn't come and bite me back
i just wish it didn't come and bite me back
Jun 24, 2025
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🧾I love stuff and i love hanging onto things. I love that i have a stack of letters my friends and i wrote and passed back and forth in class at 13 years old. I love that i still have the fake menu my best friend and i made when we were 8 for our fake restaurant that only served bug-based dishes. I love that i have a drunk love note scrawled on toilet paper at 3 in the morning in 2012. seemingly meaningless things like this from my past help remind me that I’ve actually led a wonderfully full life despite often feeling like I’ve not done enough.
Jan 29, 2025
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My Melodramatic Dispatch (Pt. 2 of ?)
TLDR: Summers feel different now.
The older I get… the more I remember: Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek. The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled — fully alive and present. The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making s’mores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying. I remember the musk of the playhouse — getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco — the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful with the plastic. The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens. When they were ripe, we’d go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, we’d pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk. I remember the ice cream truck’s lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat. And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friend’s house — her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover. I remember walking home afterward — full, tired - still in yesterday’s clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer — in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way. There’s a softer anticipation now for this year’s version of it — and a small ache for the ones I’ve already lived. For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs — racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
The older I get… the more I remember: Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek. The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled — fully alive and present. The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making s’mores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying. I remember the musk of the playhouse — getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco — the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful with the plastic. The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens. When they were ripe, we’d go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, we’d pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk. I remember the ice cream truck’s lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat. And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friend’s house — her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover. I remember walking home afterward — full, tired - still in yesterday’s clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer — in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way. There’s a softer anticipation now for this year’s version of it — and a small ache for the ones I’ve already lived. For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs — racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
Jun 25, 2025
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Feb 24, 2025
Feb 26, 2025
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⭐i often just want to paint real quick. intending to just dabble a bit. before i know it. i’m deep into the painting. completely absorbed. i might think - that’s enough for today. but then i notice a small corner that needs attention. and suddenly. two more hours have flown by. it’s like time doesn’t exist when i’m in that zone. leaving the studio feels almost surreal. as if i’m stepping back into reality from another world. i have this with absolutely nothing else
Feb 24, 2025