i absolutely cannot get enough of autumn.

it’s a sunset so strong the colors have leaked onto the trees’ leaves.
it’s the spice of apple cider, sweet and sharp in your mouth.
it’s the cool, humidity-free breeze on your skin after months of heated air.
it’s sweater weather, long sleeves covering up your fingers and scarves soft as cashmere on your chin.
it’s smelling hints of Christmas, whiffs of minty pine mixed with the earth of the ground and tang of pumpkin.
it’s seeing a new beginning, as nature itself prepares to start over.
it’s hearing the wind whistle.
it’s specialty, limited-time lattes, hot and delicious.
it’s tasting happiness on your tongue, that’s an awful much like thanksgiving.
it’s the holidays, red, gold, green, metallic, all kinds of shades.
it’s lying in the leaves.
it’s an excuse to hold hands.
it’s crunchy pine needles on a walk with someone you love.
it’s longer nights and shorter days.
it’s the thrill of a new school year, of fresh pencils and the sharp crack of new textbooks with clean pages.
it’s football games, sitting on cold bleachers, but warm from cheering on your favorite team.
it’s opening up the popping fireplace or bonfire, making smores, warm.
it’s colors, sounds, sense, beauty. so much more than words can capture.

i'm worried about getting in.

but who isn’t?
all i can see is a mountain of endless pages on college applications, essays, and recommendation letters. people telling me i should know exactly what i’m doing, that i should have applied weeks ago. that it’s ok to be stressed, but only for a little bit. because all the worthy people rise above it.

well… i haven’t risen above it. i’m freaking. out.

my heart is set on one school. i’m positive i’m going to get in. and yet… i want backup schools. places that’ll take me just because i’m good enough. so selfish, right?

but i want a good future, to have everything go perfectly. i’m just not sure how to get there. no one has explained it to me.

and the anxiety pulls me in every time, but in different ways. sometimes it constricts my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath and something to cling to. sometimes it drops a bowling ball in my stomach, splashing acid all the way down to my toes. sometimes it blurrs everything, weighting and stinging my eyelids, so i can’t do anything but sleep fitfully. sometimes it brings up everything i have yet to complete, everything in my agenda not yet checked off.

i should not worry so much about this. about anything. about what i’m going to eat for lunch or clothes or what people think of me. or how i seem to mess up no matter how hard i try. or that i’m always the scapegoat, feeling so small.

i shouldn’t worry… but i do.

This

is my only time to be me, single. I have no one tying me down to play on my emotions, creating butterflies from the electricity in my cells. It's just me and God, with no excuse on my part. A direct relationship. A blessing. The world tells me that singleness is a curse; but they are lost and don't know Him, or His perfect plan. His voice in my heart and the wisdom of my friends tell the truth.

Runningback.

Cool air caressed my face as I crouched and looked around me. The air was chilled with anticipation, making everything move in slow motion. The offensive line was bent in preparation in front of me, lined against the opposing team. Black, blending in with the night sky. Pink, bright; a false sense of security. The powderpuff logo  was itself a promise of a legacy to be left behind.  "Down... set... HIKE!" The quarterback shouted, snapping my vision into focus, with one goal. Moving behind her, she tossed me the ball. I ran. Ran straight, a fake to the left, a snap to the right. Pink and black were blurring together now, coming at me from all sides. Hands grabbing for my flag. I was always a second faster. And i moved closer and closer to a touchdown, shining ahead in white fluorescent lights.

i'm savoring every moment

of the here and now.

every breath of chilly, pine-scented air, every adrenaline rush of a powderpuff play. every leaf that falls, flavor of off campus, speed of driving down a windy road. every laugh. page design, tshirt design. every moment of high school, teacher’s wisdom, knowledge, friends on a saturday night. every order at work, worship song at church. every book, movie, song i learn by heart. every place i travel to, every success, every experience of senior year.

all these seconds, snapshots that i can never have again.

it’s good to look toward the future, but i don’t want to miss everything that’s happening right now.

this weekend is as follows:

blackout. dinner. football game. friends. school spirit. cool fall air. crisp leaves. jacket. pictures. sleep. dreams. wake up late. sunshine. powderpuff posters. powderpuff practice. pictures. decorating. excitement. anticipation. knee socks and neon tights. the game. flags. football. running. domination. bonfire. laughing. campfire smoke. reminiscing. late night. blogging. church. youth group. homework. church bible study. sleep. wake up. fair. walk. rides. fried ice cream and oreos and masterpieces. memories. experience. relax. breathe. live.

Inspiration

is fleeting,
hard to grasp,
a firefly,
hidden by day,
bright and brilliant by night.
tough to catch
but so worth
the struggle
and time to create
a miniature
sun.

God is slowly loostening my fingers on control.

One by one, He is taking them and releasing me of worry, of over-analyzing. Little things, like eating three meals a day. What shoes to wear. Being a minute late. Bigger things, like my fifteen page English paper, college, or my job. He shows me time and times again that He has a plan, and has hand-picked with perfect hands my life, my day, all my minutes. If it's meant to happen, my Daddy will make it happen. In my flesh I still worry; I still sneak a stronger hold on control. But the beauty is that even in my greatest strength, I am not as strong as Him.

My mind works in snapshots.

Quick flashes of all five senses on fire, a picture of reality captured for a second in my constantly moving brain.

Sometimes I wonder if this is how everyone thinks,

or if it's just me.

It makes describing things easy, but telling a story often becomes stringing together pictures.

That's what I remember about dreams, too.

Strange.

And yet... I kind of like it.

The Phantom of the Opera,

from the first note of the overture,

fills you up with golden notes and silver dreams.

Emotions, fearing for Christine, unsure about the Phantom;

seeing the brilliance of days gone by,

close enough to stroke the velvet curtain.

And when the chandelier falls,

your heart stops.

Because it becomes so hard to separate reality from

the dream.

True love?

He ran a finger delicately along her jaw, her nose, her closed eyelids. Cradled her in his arms, strong enough to protect her from harm. He knew her fears and worries, knew what she loved. Always made sure to give her peanut butter on her waffles, lemon in her sweet tea. He told her everyday how beautiful she was, how cute it was when her nose scrunched as she laughed. How much her encouragement meant to him. Her loyalty, her love. Her spirit was pure, and he knew he didn't deserve her. And yet, as she shifted closer to him, all he could think was that he never wanted to let her go.