Cimannnnnim Toast

As I hear the "pop" of the finale of the toaster, my mouth starts to salivate.
The warm, slightly bitter, melty slice of bread intoxicates my olfactory senses, in a way no other food item can compare.
It's rich, sparkling brown face catches my eye with that of a diamond... (Neil Diamond maybe..?) And as I suffer through the eating of the outer edges (also known as "Crust" in some cultures) of this rare gem, I find my reward in the very center. Where the butter, sugar, cimmanim, and love have all concentrated into One, Perfect, Bite.
What is this crunchy deliciousness in which I indulge myself in?
If you have not experienced this little piece of bliss, I suggest you do as the ancient Kings and Queens of the world did... Get a piece of Grandma Sycamore bread, pop it in the toaster, slather some Land O'Lakes on it, and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar you bought from Wal-mart.
Voila.

Heaven at your Fingertips.

I Try

Really, I do.
But. I think I've forgotten the real reason for trying so hard.
And I needed a wake-up... since I've been in this perpetual dreamland for five years, nine months, and 11 days.
Had I known how to save a life... Meh.

Have I been too dark lately? Probably. My bad. Sorry.


Anyway.
I say too much on this thing. Sorry.
Have a happy period. Always.
:) :) :) :) :) :)
Whoops, i did it again.
hahahahha (no song intended)

Wake UP! Premonitions Aren't Real

How do you put trust in someone who does not trust the world?

How do you have faith in someone when they don't have faith in anyone?

How do you love someone who does not love themselves?




I don't know how to help when my help, my trust, my faith, my love is not wanted and is pushed away.
I don't know how to be the person to "be there" when in your mind I've already left you.

It's hard for a person who loves another individual with premeditated disappointment.

Just A Little Creepy Admiration

I'm tired of people "owning" music. And saying how much they looovvveeee iiitttt.
What, did you WRITE the stuff?
NO.
Okay I'm done with that semi-rant. Thanks.
Also...

There is this boy at school who probably will never know that I watch him. (NO this is not creepy, I Semi-Swear.) I think he's amazing. I think he's brilliant. I think he thinks he's a no-body, but the reality is: Nobody could not love this boy.

Let me make one thing clear: I have no romantic interest in him. I just love him. C'est clair? D'accord, J'ai cru.

He isn't apart of my friend group at all... and he isn't arrogant at ALL like, not even jokingly... it's weird.

Anyway.

I'm such a girl.

Peace out.

A Word to Content

Dear Content,

You evade me
You taunt me
You haunt me.

At times I wonder why your voice sounds far off in the distance, or I catch but a glance of you, leaving me ever angry, ever frustrated, forever dismayed.

But it is the times that I do catch you and taste your sweet composure
that I
remember
why
I
hunt
you.

I think I know how Cady feels.

Been hurt. Been victim. Been broken.
But it's a completely worse feeling to know you're the one who did the breaking.
Did I break it irreparably?

Sometimes people, by "caring," care their way into a tornado, ripping up everything in sight, care away any sense of judgment or calmness or reality.
It is hard enough to handle one ordeal alone. But when the whole world seems to know what to do for you, when the whole world seems to have an opinion, when the whole world seems to be going through your trial for you, and all you want to do is suffer by yourself and not be in the glass box while people stare at you, is even harder.

Dear ______,
I'm sorry for putting you in this glass box.

Cady made huge mistakes. So have I. It's time to suck out the poison.

Une Odeur Nouveau

This world has become a thorny rose.
It always has been... but I believe that the thorns are longer, and sharper, and multiplying. It seems to me that the stem is getting longer, steeper, higher.
However, I think the flower itself might be getting fuller. And the fumes that are given off of it becoming richer.

Reasoning for this dumb statement:

Seattle is a mix of wonders, types, people, and landscapes.

It provokes thought, ideas, emotion, connection, interpretation, determination.

There is a lot of scariness mixed up in it all.

But there is the ONE very important thing that intoxicates this city with the aroma of roses:
The freelance performers with their guitars.

How is it that a single person can fill a bustling street of confusion and noise with peace and authentic content with nothing but a large stringed instrument?
Everything about this continuous incident- the scruffy beard, the long-ish dirty hair, the tanned dry fingers, the eyes mirroring the Puget Sound, the sound not sounding like "puget" but like "a lark at the break of day arising".
It has all been the subconscious reason of everyone who enters this city, to return. Like a narcotic calling back its addict, Seattle calls to its children of the world.

I love this city. I will be back to you, one day, my sweet drug.


A perfect village farmer's market, downtown


Of course there's fish. They live off the stuff.


Ah, the Puget Sound


Me, Sarah, and Patti at Pike's Place.




Oh, also, we went to Vancouver... here's a little taste of the Pacific









Post Script (S.Shill)
Here lies the world's first ever- Starbucks. Gah.