again, my pretty sister. taken sunday.
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
my pretty twin-sis. taken sunday afternoon.
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
3/1/12. (c) 2012 Nicole Lay
Stinking good read. So great.
outside work. 3/1/12
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
again, outside work. 3/1/12
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
outside my office, today, 3/1/12
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
—
In a town of small talk,
Cicada summers,holidays in the park.
Coffee every morning,
In a blue-lit room like every other day.
There’s a slow emergency,
I can hear the alarm bell ringing.
There’s a slow emergency,
I can hear the bell in the dark,
—sometimes i’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
well, me.
taken sunday by my sister, processing by me
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
well, me.
taken sunday by my sister, processing by me
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
well, me.
taken sunday by my sister, processing by me
(c) 2012 Nicole Lay
My mom puts me in pageants and everyone says I’m beautiful. But all I want to do is play on the swings. That’s when life is beautiful, when it’s on a swing set.
// //if i have a point////
“Mattie,” he said silently to no one in the room, “you’re a little girl. But nobody stays a little girl or a little boy long—take me, for instance. All of a sudden little girls wear lipstick, all of a sudden little boys shave and smoke. So it’s a quick business, being a kid. Today you’re ten years old, running to meet me in the snow, ready, so ready, to coast down Spring Street with me; tomorrow you’ll be twenty, with guys sitting in the living room waiting to take you out. All of a sudden you’ll have to tip porters, you’ll worry about expensive clothes, meet girls for lunch, wonder why you can’t find a guy who’s right for you. And that’s all as it should be. But my point, Mattie—if I have a point, Mattie—is this: kind of try to live up to the best that’s in you. If you give your word to people, let them know that they’re getting the word of the best. If you room with some dopey girl at college, try to make her less dopey. If you’re standing outside a theater and some old gal comes up selling gum, give her a buck if you’ve got a buck—but only if you can do it without patronizing her. That’s the trick, baby. I could tell you a lot, Mat, but I wouldn’t be sure that I’m right. You’re a little girl, but you understand me. You’re going to be smart when you grow up. But if you can’t be smart and a swell girl, too, then I don’t want to see you grow up. Be a swell girl, Mat.”
— J.D. Salinger, Last Day of the Last Furlough
I was June and you were my Johnny Cash, never one without the other we made a pact.
this instrument, not gonna lie, it moves me like words can’t.
2/8/12 (c) 2012 Nicole Lay
Coffee & Tea. Cats & Dogs. Photography & Web Design. Piano & Ukulele. Jesus & Family.
