“And the stars shining through our window,

And it’s been a while, since I stared at the stars…”

-Noah and the Whale

I used to live in the country. There were barely any lights out there and because of that, the stars shone so brightly.

Looking up at the night sky in the country was an amazing thing–hundreds of stars glittered in the velvet dark, the longer you looked the more you saw.

Seeing all of those stars made me feel so small.

Nothing can compare with a cold night in the fall by a bonfire staring up at the black sky.



Our first apartment together as a married couple was awful. It was so tiny and we had some really sketchy neighbors.

But we were so in love that it didn’t matter. We had each other and a new life together and everything was golden.

The apartment building backed right up to the train tracks and the train passed by several times a day and every time it did the whole building would shake. There were these certain pictures I was always having to fix because the rattling building caused them to hang crooked.

Some people might find the train a nuisance…but I loved it! You could hear the whistle coming from far away, you started to feel the rumbling and for about two to three minutes, you had to shout over the noise.

At night it was so comforting to be falling asleep and hear the train passing by in the still of night. It was comforting and soothing to me. There were far too many nights I wanted to throw my shoes on, race beside the train and hop on to see where it would take me.

But I was never brave enough to do that.

Instead I dreamed about it.

Our last night in that apartment and we had stayed up late packing and hanging out. We had to put some things in the mail before moving so we walked across the street to the post office. Holding hands and skipping through the vast empty parking lot of the post office, suddenly we hear a shrill whistle.

I held his hand tighter, stared up into his blue eyes and begged him to wait for the train.

We walked as close to the tracks as we dared.

The whistle gets closer, it’s sound cold in the darkness. The ground begins to tremble beneath my toes and with it, so does my heart. Suddenly, bursting around the bend this mammoth machine flies past us at a terrible speed making my hair whip away from my face.

Never had I felt so alive and so small.

I held his hand by the tracks, saying a silent goodbye to one of the sweetest times of my life.

I’ve always loved trains. I love how they awaken my wanderlust to a frantic longing. I love how they make me feel at home and lonely at the same time.

Maybe it’s the gypsy blood of my ancestors in my blood, but one day I’ll train-hop across this country and I hope some of you will join me!


The Lights

Friday night. We gathered at our friend’s house–all our families with food, wine and desserts.

After a bible study (in which most of us giggled, doodled and passed notes) we’d put on our shoes and run outside in any type of weather and go to “the lights.”

With the words ‘HOLD FAST’ written in sharpie on our knuckles, we’d walk down the street–there was this bend in the road where the trees cleared and you could see for miles. We were up in the hills and the city was below us and the lights from downtown glittered invitingly for us to join in.

Sometimes we’d all walk in a group, other times we’d race each other, our lungs burning with the delight of moving. We’d sit in the grass and talk about anything and every thing.

In the winter we’d huddle together as close as we could for warmth. In the summer we’d dance in the road.

We’d stay out till most of the parents had collected their kids and dragged them home. Those who were left would all walk the short way home and swing or sit in the tree until it was our turn to leave.

Many dreams were dreamed. Many things discussed. Many secrets whispered. And many friendships forged stronger on that hillside where we watched the lights.


To The Mermaid Girl

“She was the tide, always drifting in and out of the lives of those who loved her, eternally indecisive, unable to discern whether she desired the solidity and safety of the land, or the wild freedom of the ocean.”

Beau Taplin

You have always been a mermaid. From the first moment your fingers felt the water, to the moment you first gazed upon the ocean. Your heart has always belonged to the sea.

You have always felt the tug of the ocean, even hundreds of miles inland. Its siren song stuck in your head.

And now, your uncanny resemblance to Ariel and all your things making the trek to the seaside so you can live there. You are ready to call the beach your home.

In a way, you’re returning home.

You’ve always had the ocean inside of you–you are deep, mysterious, and parts of you are far too deep and dark for just anyone to explore. Sometimes you are calm on the surface but raging beneath. Your storms have taken many a victim–but on those sunny days, you are a haven. Warm, inviting, a place to find calm and peace.

You, my dear, are a mermaid. An elusive, mysterious creature; only few can claim to have really and truly seen you.

Sometimes it’s so hard to reach you when you retreat to the depths of your ocean; those who love you are left on the land unable to follow.

But, my mermaid girl, don’t forget us in your adventures.


The Cinematic Greats

I will never forget the first time I watched Jurassic Park, or Star Wars, or E.T.

Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings. Those movies whose soundtrack and cinematography stick with you forever. The ones with the most well-loved and quotable script.

Although these will never compare, what a time to be alive that we get to see the continuing story.

I got to see Jurassic World, and it made me feel 10 years old all over again!


Good Music

“It literally stresses me out how much good music there is that I still haven’t listened to”

Always on the hunt. Frantically grasping at the slightest musical phrase that I hear. When you’ve searched for months for that one song. The tenderness with which you clutch it; so soft yet so tight. The way you protect it. Hiding it from those who wouldn’t respect its beauty.

The never-ending obsession.


That One Time I Got Sorted Into Slytherin

Me and my family jumped on the Harry Potter bandwagon very late. The sixth movie had just come out when I picked up the first book and then proceeded to make the rest of the family read it.

And although we were late, we swiftly became whole-hearted converts…um….fans!

As a matter of fact, I started the first book in January, by that November, all five of us had read every book and were dressed up at the midnight premier for part 1 of the seventh movie.

Around this same time, Facebook quizzes were still a thing–you don’t believe me, but they used to be cool–and of course, I HAD to see which house I’d be sorted into.

Because these were fan-made quizzes, I had to take more than one just to make sure things were accurate. 3 out of 4 sorted me into Gryffindor and 1 out of 4 sorted me into Hufflepuff. *BARF*

(Yes, I tried NOT to rig my answers to get me into Gryffindor.)

So when Pottermore made its debut with the actual, for real, Rowling-approved quiz, I was dying to get my hands on it!

Side note: my sister got the BETA version of Pottermore…TWICE! It was a long, complicated process and it’s insane that she got it twice!

When I got my account I zoomed through the first few chapters to get to the Sorting Hat.

*Deep Breath*

Here goes.

Don’t cheat, answer as honestly as possible. This is the quiz that counts–J.K. Rowling herself is quizzing you.

I took my time, I considered every answer, but I didn’t overthink it.

Finally it’s time for my results. I cross my fingers, praying I wouldn’t be a Hufflepuff when suddenly my computer screen is flooded with green and silver.

It’s wrong, it has to be wrong. My breath is short, “Nonononononononononononononononono”

“What?! Did you get Hufflepuff?” the husband asks, only a few chapters behind me.

Wordlessly, I swivel my computer around for him to see the dreaded news.

“Slytherin!! No way!” he laughs.

But it’s no laughing matter, I felt kicked out of the cool kid club…I’d been punched in the gut and I couldn’t breathe. I felt as though I’d let Rowling down and was severely depressed.

I made my way to the floor where the husband was sitting so I could see his results, the screen goes blank for a moment and then the warmth of the Gryffindor common room lights up his screen.


The husband is dying of laughter at this point.

“It’s not funny!” I say, punching his arm more out of frustration than play, “It’s not fair!”

I was upset the rest of the night and I haven’t returned to Pottermore since. It broke my heart too much. The poor husband spent a long time trying to make me feel better but to no avail.

Lately though, I think I’ve found my inner Slytherin and I’m learning to be okay with my house. But there will always be a part of me that has Gryffindor envy, and that part of me mourns every day.