Little girl filling big shoes

Little girl steps into her momma's high heeled shoes. Wobbly, she looks in the mirror and tries ever so carefully to apply the red lipstick, like her momma does every morning.



I am pretty sure that my current waves of thoughts is being brought about by my upcoming birthday (yes, it's true; next week I turn 26). But it's a thought that's been reacurring for the last couple years.


Do you feel like an adult?



Strangely enough I feel embarassed to say that I don't, not quite. I often feel like the little girl in the shaky high heels, trying to act the part. But i'm going to be 26. Where is the finish line for 'youth'?

I'm a Grad student at a University in a different country then my home. I have a car. I do dishes. Cook. Clean, etc etc.

Introspection gets the best of me.

I suppose it's inevitable, that I should be nostalgic and such a few days before the next year of my life. Maybe i'll need to be the so-called 'settled' (aka: married and a house) in order to feel that adult-y feeling. We'll see. There's a quote I love, "Grandmothers are just 'antique' little girls." At the end of the day, perhaps the feeling I have is not one of being 'young or little', but maybe it is simply the feeling of my own unique being. Maybe it is the 'me' that will stick with me for the rest of my days.

It wouldn't be that bad...When I'm 85, looking in the mirror, how cute would it be to picture myself as a little blond-headed girl, wobbly in the high-heeled shoes..

What do you think?

Poem titles stress me out.

A longing deep inside me
Exists
And sways in the breeze of untrollable thoughts
A yearning
for the touch.
There's a look
We all know
A hooked
heart
a comfort
even apart.

You are a mystery to me
The face with no distinction
But what I would give
To know who you are.

I will hold you someday.
I will try to take your breath away.

Your name will flow from my soul
As we meet, I know.

Mossy adventures through time

Blogs have never been my strong point; I forget to update them. This week, I was reading a blog (not mine), and I was suddenly filled with ideas, inspiration. That happens to me sometimes when I read. Not often. But it is the Why to ‘why’ I love to write. It’s how I release those ideas.

The blog was Jader Bomb's, and she wrote about finding colored glass buried in the wood. As though she had tapped a magic wand on my head (preferably a sparkly one), I was transported back in time (the art of writing, my friend, is indeed the ultimate time machine). I was placed square in my grandma’s backyard, in the woods, underneath the canopy of tall pines, the ground a soft blanket of pine needle and moss. It’s another world there. As a child, I would often go play in there… the summer rays would create a great ambiance and the smell of the pine made me feel alive. Sometimes I would find old bottles, often broken, half-buried in the ground (how safe this was). I was tremendously excited to find these! I would picture my grandparents, in the ‘old days’, drinking from these bottles. I imagined young men sneaking a few brew… It was moments like those that were the golden moments of my childhood. Jader Bomb’s colored glass brought me there again.

Cheers yall. I hope you find yourself in great spirits tonight. and everyday. :)