I am Kate. Here I will post images and words about my life and thoughts. Please enjoy. Read more about me here: |
The first time I hung out with him was back in September. He was (and still is) friends with a girl I kind of knew at the time: Jules. I went to get coffee and do homework with Jules, Sam, and William. I had known him only a couple of hours when we discovered a shared love, and long history, of the band Young the Giant. I have been listening to them since I was eleven. I went to see them in 2014 when they were one of two opening bands for Kings of Leon. William has been listening to them with his family since 2011. We can both agree that their music has grown along with us. There are so many layers to what their music means to me and to him. After discovering this shared passion for a smaller band, we looked up concerts in Boston. We saw one in Providence, RI. Don't ask me why, but after knowing him for two hours at the most I felt it was completely appropriate to suggest we go stay with my (step) cousin who goes to RISD while we attend the concert. He was apparently not too phased because he liked the idea. We bought tickets the next day and I made arrangements to stay with my cousin Ella. It is good that we only grew closer because it could have gone the other direction. Come mid-November we were still very close. So, Sunday November 11th came along and hoped on an Amtrak train to Providence with a backpack and some snacks. We ate grapes and somewhat stale sourdough bread with raspberry jam, while the light reflected off of the sugary spread and soaked into the crevices of our bread. We listened to some music to accompany the view of passing faded trees. We ran off the train eager to meet the fresh air. "Downtown" I read from a sign. "That works, right?" I asked and before I knew it we were heading through the doors into the cool, crisp air of Rhode Island in November. We headed towards the coffee place where Ella works, allowing ourselves to get sidetracked by copious amounts crunchy leaves and rippling reflections of the church tower. We were welcomed by a smiling Ella and the warmth of this little nook. She brought us coffee with soy milk, which I later spilled aggressively after hitting the table. We soaked up the bittersweet drink that energized us for the long day ahead. William filmed a silhouette of a man's dancing fingers while he escaped reality. We trekked back to her apartment stopping to acknowledge the silence and solitude of the air. We stood there with our faces towards the sun. We listened to the absence of the pandemonium that Boston bears. I hadn't realized how much I missed, and cherished, the peacefulness of quiet air. We made it to her apartment and were welcomed by Luna. Luna is their little black kitty whom we found basking in the sunlight striking the wood floors. William and I hooked up his phone to the aux, so we could dance around to "Apartment" and "My Body" by Young the Giant. It was pure joy dancing around that warm kitchen on such a happy day. xxxxxx This is William on his phone for the last time before we put them away for the weekend. From here we went and got a proper meal. We got a bit distracted by a park near the water, murals, and perfect climbing trees. But, after that we got food. We each got a sandwich with home fries and it was delicious. We looked at a RISD/Brown newspaper while we ate and chatted.
We found an amazing vintage store to browse through. It never ended. There were endless rooms and floors of family postcards from the 50's, large studded rings, fur coats, CDs of the coneheads' soundtrack, boy scouts' books, and vintage radios. As we walked up the stairs, surrounded by large, framed paintings and a full length mirror, we compared our visit here to that of Percy Jackson's in the Lotus Casino. We had already spent hours in there and could easily spend more looking at old cameras, trying on elaborate clothes, and flipping through the dusty pages of deteriorating magazines. We forced ourselves to leave and we left at the perfect time. We walked down the quiet, secluded street. We passed churches illuminated by the golden hour sun and stiff tree branches. The sliver of the sky we could see at the end of the road took on the color of a peach from the summer that had faded due to the bitter cold of the sullen winter skies. We chased it. We ran towards the sky, towards the ocean.
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Home. I didn't anticipate how much I would miss it while I was gone. Living in the suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina does not bring the most eventful times, but it does bring some memorable ones. I have been home for a few days and it has been both rewarding and refreshing. I walk outside each morning and take a moment to breathe in the fresh, untainted air. I take a moment to close my eyes and listen to the silent atmosphere, aside from a few crinkling leaves resulting from a light breeze making them clash together high up in the sky and the sounds of birds speaking another language. I take a moment to soak up the Carolina blue sky, the warmer temperatures, and the never ending dancing treetops. I missed my woods and I am thankful to be back just in time to see the last life of the leaves as they are overtaken by an array of warm colors right before the cold overwhelms and blows away the last reminiscence of warmth. Paul Simon swarms the air, along with the scents of baking pie crust and the fresh air coming from the open door. My mom and I sing and dance along to our favorite tunes, while we dirty our hands with sticky dough and splattering cranberries. I look at her. She is content and so am I. We have good music, good food, family, and fresh air. What more could you want? This is home. I am driving. It’s 1am after Thanksgiving day. I drive down Main Street and not a soul can be found. I have never seen it like this, but then again I don’t think I have ever driven around at 1am on a holiday. It was oddly eerie. I was reminded of different phases of my life as I passed by places that I have specific memories in. I saw myself at varying ages with the corresponding friends. I thought of the memories I have in each of the places I passed. It was like watching my younger years as I drove by each moment. I thought of the people in their homes sleeping with full bellies after a long day of cooking and soaking up time with family. I pictured people bundled up in the warm glow of their homes while I drove with the sleeves of my shirt over my hands to protect them from the permanently cold steering wheel. I thought of all the things that people are thankful for and how that varies so drastically depending on one’s mind and environment. Amidst this, all I can see at the end of this long, empty road is the glow of a green light. A green light telling me to go. Nobody is there to watch me, or to stop me, but I follow. I follow all of the rules and I follow this green light all the way home and I carry it with me. I carry this light that tells me to keep going, not to stop. I carry this drive with me wherever I go. This is home. I am eating some toast on my floor. I am surrounded by poetry books, old children’s books, a ridiculous amount of mugs next to me (that likely contain the remains of the copious amounts of chamomile tea that I have been drinking), markers, pens, and glue sticks. I am writing, reading poetry, and collaging. It is sometime around midnight and I have been here for hours just letting my mind spill things onto the pages and watching as my thoughts materialize into miscellaneous words and images. The phrase “Ojos de Dios” rests next to an image of a daisy chain and some doodles. The pages begin to fill up. This is home. This is what I love most. I love my quiet nights spent on my floor snacking and drinking tea while I write until my hand cramps and my mind, exhausted from thinking, is ready for sleep.
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Author18 year old girl living in boston and studying journalism. I love to create and be in nature. FOLLOW ME:
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