A writter on a long journey, never ready to put down the pen.
I travel, I test, I explore and in the days end I can't stay away from writting down a few simple silly words.
It's my life, not a novel. I make it a story.
It's called my life part 2.
Part one was torn apart, hardly a trace behind. Story two is consistent almost to the point of too much for the pages to handle
My hair has it's golden wrapped in a mess of curls and waves unsure of what it is supposed to look like and how it's supposed to piece together to create on simple look.
wardrobe malfunction once again and the door of my closet atest to stay shut, sick of all the rumage and piles that lay dorment on the floor for days at a time.
camera lays on the side of my bed never put away because I'm always trying to capture just the right piece of me to show the world.
It's the impossible task. I never stay the same always changing people don't see it as well as I, but I really never am just vintage, skater, prep, but always unknown.
they fret to think that I could be more than just one; just thinking that one is all that could ever be inside the picket fence that gets so much of ignore.
Ignore me, but life isn't in a bad state, blessings are grand. All but one and I can't complain life isn't perfect & I can match with much more imperfectness on my side than that.
my stomach aches for food and I have no idea why. I just ate. hmm
movie in an hour and I just want to go and swim.
I think I'll play with photos and then play.
ciao.
The out come of the vintage look.. more like 80's look.. hehe.
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