m e l i s s i m a.

Tiny Thoughts.»

I crave what I already have; simple things…the pure good stuff. My thoughts drift into corners of comfort and pleasure; places where there’s only ‘safe’ and ‘soft,’ and everything just feels right. I like things this way. I like things weightless. 

Spiked senses. My unsatisfied hunger for warm shades, hats, and knits. For a forest to get lost in, dipped in Indian tones of reds, oranges, and golds. Air so crisp it numbs the lips just before they go to speak, and suddenly, silence. Draped in peace and hushed by the wind, frozen in a moment…I’m standing still.

The Earth prepares itself for dreaming; that long game of Hide and Seek that lasts through winter. But I don’t fancy that fixed idea of bullshit. Look closer, focus harder; there’s more alive than dead.  Untamed energy. The body breaking loose, claiming more freedom than summer’s ever allowed. Doors locked shut…only sounds.

Under a shared plaid blanket, sipping hot cocoa, to the flipping of photographs. We don’t have any together yet, but I’m not bothered. There’s no reason to stop the moment this time…this time, there’s life to be lived.

September.»

He crept in so sweetly yesterday; almost unnoticed. And already, the first of his days has gone spent. 

I think of him, and all my mind sees is yellow. …Smiling mornings of softness and the sheer feeling of comfort, through sunset. …School supplies, and You’ve Got Mail.

A fleece North Face, fitted jeans, and new sneakers. A pony tail and head band, perhaps. Saturday mornings so crisp, you can feel goosebumps graze the skin as you drive down the highway. Sunglasses on, windows cracked just enough to breathe in the tingling sharpness, and new lipstick…a hint of tease seals your smile. That spiced coffee you’ll sip on, but not finish, warming the cup holder. And the company of red, orange, mustard leaves twirling down from the sky, filling in for the absence in the seat next to you. The music’s on…

September’s perfect thirty, its scent, its smile…the curvature of its S. I thirst for it all, every year. I love that he delivers everyone’s white slate. …Brings the one who’s supposed to stay longer. His flower, the Forget-Me-Not… (An oh so clever one…)

But above all, he makes me want to breathe it all in and Love it all out. Because after Summer, comes Autumn. …And lately, I crave Him more than ever.

Home.»

The oh so perfect definition of what I’d like my house to be like one day. 

“In this House…We do Real. We do Mistakes. We do I’m Sorry. We do Second Chances. We do Fun. We do Hugs. We do Forgiveness. We do Really Loud. We do Family. We do Love.”

For dream time…

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What Matters.»

The beauty of Simple Pleasures.

Regard in the form of Consciousness. Purity in the form of Weightlessness. Innocence in the form of Feeling. Simplicity in the form of Truth.

…Wrapped up in the smile of a boy, and locked forever in the heart of his girl;

Love.

Because it matters most.

Calm Me Down, Kissless.»

It always gets to me; the transitional period between seasons that always makes dimmer my smile, and leaves me with that uncomfortable feeling of wearing slightly oversized socks. My body can feel it… that it’s almost time to go back.

The sun becomes less playful, the ocean waves more rough, and the warmth of my summer love story begins to feel chillier in its approach. I find myself in a daze more times that I’d prefer, over-thinking the simplest of things and feeling uneasy for a while. (All of such, usually entirely unnecessarily, of course. But impossible to ignore.)

And all I want is for you to calm me down…kissless.

“Don’t you love New York City in the fall? Makes me wanna buy school supplies.” I look forward to this line every year, and to that Cranberries song playing in the background… Imagining Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks walking to work as utter strangers, completely in Love with one another. But school supply shopping is a chore where I live, and Cosmopolitan Love, much too cumbersome to bother with. In Europe, such is all nonsense that gets in the way of a mid-day caffè. School supply shopping was special when I was growing up… The smell of fresh notebook paper, the smoothness of a ballpoint pen; all foreign pleasures now. Things change. And then I miss them…I miss them a lot.

Just the thought of disappearing into the clouds of an August afternoon…of going back…kissless.

The colors of New England leaves, the crisp air at football games, carving pumpkins…lighting scented candles in the backyard on Sunday school nights, cuddling under plaid patterned blankets to stay warm. N o s t a l g i a. 

I’m going to start counting my Septembers. 

Pure.»

I hope that my combining of these four short films into a single post doesn’t devalue any of them in any way, because they’re each absolutely beautiful. They were shot by Leonardi Dalessandri, an Italian cinematographer, I’m assuming, for pure fun.

The colors that come through in each shot are so vivid and so full of life, like the places and faces captured themselves. Each scene, a taste of Italy; the pure place that I call home. 

{Visit his website by clicking here.}

‘An Autumn’s Tale’ | Shot in Parma, Emilia Romagna (Italy)

‘A Day Like Today’ | Shot in Parma, Emilia Romagna (Italy)

‘Suddenly, Last Summer’ | Shot in Moliterno, Basilicata (Italy)

‘Ghost Town’ | Shot in Val d’Agri, Lucania (Italy)

Thirsty…Not Just Thursdays.»

It’s only natural to worry when a neighbor doesn’t call for a few days…when the mail starts to pile up, and the car’s parked on the same side of the driveway.

When dust accumulates in the corners of this blog, however, it actually means (in the most clichè of terms), that “life is good.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

I’m living It in the form of a weary dream these days (“Life,” kid). The air feels stickier against my skin, my energy is significantly subdued, and the streets are more deserted than their usual (or busier, rather, and more populated by the ghosts that linger…I can’t decide). That’s what the New South is like, at least this time around.

BLACK-and scribbles of color entertain my eyes.

I feel like I’ve been here before, seen these familiar faces, tasted this exact flavour…but I haven’t. Conclusion: distant, faded, deceiving memories. But that would be too easy; to say it were all strange and foreign to me. (That part’s not all true anyway, and we know it.) There are some photographs…

Frustration, and I’m slightly bitter.

I toss once, turn twice. My dream swirls and the details twist.

I have been here before, I know these people, and damn straight, these are kiwis in my mouth. It just feels different; wearier than usual. And I’m thirsty. New words roll off my tongue (no more I love you’s), but I keep the new vocabulary concealed. It’s all recycled with a new kick.

Guess that’s what happens when the world’s spinning fast, and you’re spinning (well…) with it: you start to S W I R L, and you hit the ground running. My thirst these days is the kind that isn’t exactly quenchable; the thirst that nestles itself on your taste buds and tickles to no end; a thirst for novelty.

Tonight, I’m safe in someone else’s arms…the embrace of that stranger whom I haven’t hugged in a long while, but who welcomes me just the same, every time I need love and the reassurance that I haven’t lost sight of M e l i s s i m a. It’s my writing that brings me home.

My safe haven, once classifiable as the bosom of the south, is now but a pile of ash. But don’t you for a second think it’s burnt and dead. It’s what’s most ready to make fertile the new life that comes with what’s around the corner.

Autumn.