Journaling is a brilliant, cathartic, and creative outlet that I have been embracing for a few years now. The best part is that it can take on so many forms. Journals range from paintings, collages, lists, drawings, poems, original musings, etc. The majority of my journal pages are an amalgamation of all of the above. All for my private pleasure. But! Here are a few of my favorites I wanted to share. :)
It takes a vast amount of compassion and imagination to appreciate a place as unremarkable as this. In a town this small, you must invent your own fun. With limited sources for entertainment, you are forced to explore and exploit your own creative conscience. You are incessantly compelled to dive into your subconscious mind and pray that you pull out something extraordinary. But, here in Calvert County, everything belongs to you. Everything and everyone here is family, which is something particularly exquisite.
This is a safe town. This is a town of thank-yous, excuse-mes, and good mornings. This is a town where others wave as you drive past. This is a see-the-stars-every-night type of town. The feeling of familiarity swaddles you like a warm blanket, yet is often the driving force for many to flee.
Physical environment shapes your self-concept and general frame of mind. Often times, you feel trapped here, like you’re sinking into the ground to be sealed off for good, never to escape. Everyone you know has their own rationale for wanting to leave, and their own dreams of the uncharted territory that looms in the distance. Everyone is eager to break away from the imprisonment of the small town life.
When you leave this town, you leave for something bigger. In Calvert County, everyone knows who you are. Out there, you are microscopic. You are invisible until you make yourself known. Out there everything is quick, and everyone is in a hurry. You must adapt to the unavoidable haste. People stare at cell phone screens or straight towards their destination. Excuse-mes and good mornings are minimal or inexistent. Life moves at a different speed. You will miss the quiet streets and the back roads and the big hearts. You will miss the constant daydreaming of the foreign terrain. You will begin to treasure the delicate beauty of the tiny town you once loathed.
How you paint our world depends on you. Though your surroundings and physical atmosphere can influence your perspective, it is up to you individually to open your eyes and revel in its splendor. You must learn every day to allow the space between where you are and where you want to be to inspire you, rather than discourage you. Suddenly, you will become awash in gratitude. This town will be your stepping stone to the destination you desire – whether it be across the globe, a notorious city, the next town over, or shockingly, right here in Calvert County – if you allow it to.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to desert this town, but as I imagine opening the door to the universe that lies ahead, I can’t help but admire this aging beauty surrounding me. I can feel the strength of togetherness and family. I can feel a paralyzing sense of nostalgia as I drive the familiar streets. I can feel the Chesapeake Bay running through my veins. There is love here in daydream nation, and although escaping may be probable, returning now and again is inevitable.
thoughts at 12:15pm
i want to wake up to your sleepy yawns and bedroom eyes every morning;
i'd smile, then snuggle close and drift back to sleep for a few hours in your arms.
12:38
my favorite noise
is that of your heavy breathing
and sharply drawn gasps
when i give myself to you
and our bodies blend together
12:44
i bet the moon is lonely
staring down at a world so dark and quiet
but if it only knew how much we long for it
and feel dazzled and dizzied by it's presence
oh, moon don't hide away
illuminate our violet sky
1:00
your eyes tell stories
they speak to me each time they meet mine
yours are lighter, with a bit more blue
but i always pretend they're the same
when they meet it's an abrupt and awkward handshake
but then after a few seconds they have become the best of friends
yours telling stories and secrets that even your mouth would not expose
mine shyly observing with amour
dreamy ☾ from tinabuff on 8tracks Radio.
You think you know exactly what to do when you’re in that moment. Then that moment comes, more abruptly than you could ever imagine, and all former expectations evaporate as your life flickers before your eyes.
You are quivering – paralyzed by terror, regret, guilt, and memories. You catch your friend’s glance as the atmosphere rotates behind you, and then vanishes. You want to speak, but your mouth is enfeebled. The fear in your friend’s eyes echoes yours and time stands still for the briefest of moments. It is 9:00 a.m. on a colorless winter day in January.
Muscles you did not even know existed stiffen as that undesirable target narrows in through tunnel vision. The image vanishes as a white effervescence emerges and showers you with knifelike particles and a mysterious powder that burns your skin.
The piercing sound of your friend’s scream sends shivers down your spine and you scramble out of the vehicle just as sudden and unexpectedly as the accident had occurred. Your chest tightens and your breathing becomes stifled. You dial your parents and there is no answer. One friend is lying on the ground on the jacket that you took off to comfort her as you shiver. There is blood. Your other friend flees the scene immediately to notify your parents who are less than a mile away. Isn’t it funny how that happens? So close to your destination, yet galaxies away.
Before you know it, you are being placed in a wheelchair in the emergency room. Across the room you see your two friends through cloudy, teary eyes and feel a gut-wrenching sense of guilt overcome your entire body. Your world becomes a haunting, phantasmagoric nightmare. As the doctors help you into the bed, you weep violently. Your mind is a film reel, with the scene of the disaster replaying incessantly on the backs of your eyelids. It is 11:00 a.m. in Calvert Memorial Hospital.
Policemen bombard your hospital room. While struggling through the pain, they force you to walk one foot in front of the other in your thin, scanty hospital gown and follow a flashlight with your dripping eyes. They draw blood from your trembling arm as you drift into that obscure place between consciousness and slumber. As your eyes open, the nurse presents you with pain medication, ice for your wounds and an additional blanket for warmth. You use it to shelter yourself from the catastrophe.
You are released from the hospital room with a stack full of papers, your arm in a sling, a swollen eye and mouth, and countless airbag burns. You stumble a few steps out of your hospital room, still protected from the world under your delicate, white blanket. Unfortunately, that blanket does not veil your eyes from the images to follow. Your friend’s mother is positioned outside of a room a few doors away from yours and you shuffle timidly across to her. She perceives the sorrow and guilt in your body language and makes an attempt to reassure you. You tell her that you want to see your friend; she sighs and warns you that it is an unpleasant sight. “It appears much worse than it is. Don’t panic,” she assures. You nod.
The door is cautiously nudged open, and you begin to wail. You are told she is on copious pain medications and she is not quite conscious of the atmosphere or her condition. You faintly recognize her, due to the excessive blood and bruising of her frightened face. You whimper and gasp for air while repeatedly muttering, “I’m sorry,” to the fragile body lying in front of you.
The nurses escort you out of her room where your other friend appears. You both observe one another’s bruises, bandages, and bloodshot eyes and reach out for an enduring embrace. You walk together to the waiting room where there are familiar faces appearing morose upon your emergence. They anticipate details of the occurrence, but you are only capable of sobbing. They console you as you await the condition of your wounded friend. The nurses send you home to rest and insist they will send frequent updates. It is 4:00 p.m. and you are forced back into an automobile.
You pull into your driveway and see the mangled remnants of your red Toyota. It has been dislodged and towed away from the tree that dissevered it into pieces. You roll your head away from the catastrophic sight but your eyes cannot seem to veer from the path. You finally step inside your home where you are greeted by your affectionate sister who heard the news and hurried over. Your mother is immobile from recent surgery and bawls at the sight of you. You embrace each other for what feels like eternity. Your dizzied and exhausted body collapses on the couch and your mind leaks grief out by the pounds.