monday, 12:01

Hey, look, I covered this entire website in my scribbled half-cursive handwriting and I’m pretty sure it’s illegible but I’m keeping it because Weez liked it! Also, I accidentally destroyed my buttons page, so now it’s just a list of your names that’s currently a work in progress because I’m apparently incapable of remembering everyone that I appreciate.

*sips thoughtfully from an empty mug*

I think, at this point, I’ve written seven or eight short stories that I can’t seem to make myself publish. They’re just sitting in drafts, with dramatic Unsplash featured images and everything, missing their final paragraphs. I don’t plan on finishing them, but it just feels so good to sit down and spill the threads of my mind onto the screen that I don’t particularly care if I do anything with the resulting words. All that said, I present to you a series of out-of-context sentences from these unfinished works.

Oh wait, but first—

I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I’m under
– Hopeless Wanderer | Mumford & Sons

Isn’t that lovely? The new-music-finding thing on Amazon Music is doing well today.

Anyways, words. And sunsets, ’cause why not. :)

In the back corner of the gas station, a yellow sort of quiet hangs in the air. Deeply unsettled by her own mind, she leans against the wall, staring at a spinning rack of secondhand souvenirs. Past the lottery ads and ice cream machines, she can hear the muffled sounds of people in the parking lot—exchanging comfortable conversation, slamming the doors of their cars, pulling away towards home.

He is fifteen and it is midnight when he leans over the edge of the concrete bridge and screams. A silver snow is everywhere, glittering flakes suspended in midair beneath the streetlights, softening the heavy cold that seems to cut straight through his soaking jacket. He hardly recognizes his own raw voice as the wind tears the pale sound from his mouth and sends it spinning away into the darkness.

Neither could remember why they climbed the gate, and neither intended on climbing down, so they just stayed that way, watching the afternoon grow heavy beneath a velvet sort of silence. The older boy, staring intently at the place he imagined to be the edge of the sky, was the first to speak.

“I think I want to live forever,” he declared, the unexpected words dangerous with the taste of impossibility.

The younger boy slid carefully closer to his brother, gripping the scuffed top bar with rust-stained fingers. “Forever is a long time,” he said slowly, hovering on the edge of an unspoken question. Swatting at the flies that hummed around his ears, he frowned a little, hesitant. “You sure?”

“I don’t have to be sure,” came the steady voice. “I just will.”

Now, she straightens, watching the way a poorly painted suncatcher scatters fragments of rainbow light across the floor. A heaviness that she didn’t know she was carrying seems to slip gently between her fingers, and in a sudden moment of certainty, she knows something that her mother didn’t. There’s broken glass and empty windows and desperation that threatens to eat you alive, but there’s also warm afternoons and music on a stranger’s radio and long sips of cold Coke, and the two are all mixed together in an inextricable mess of pain and beauty and loneliness and hope.

You leaned out the window of the pickup truck, listening to the unclaimed dogs and out-of-order gas stations and muddy dirt roads as they breathed in their same old tired way, and it occurred to you that you could stand beneath the single red light across from the feed store, right in the middle of the road, and scream at the top of your lungs, and that one lone rocking chair in front of the general store would continue its gentle motion. A screen door would slam somewhere beyond the empty post office, a group of kids with vaguely familiar dirt-streaked faces would ride by on a four wheeler, and the ancient moss-laden oak trees would sway in the breeze, smiling a little at your desperate attempt to shake life into something that never had any intention of opening its eyes.

Bravery, he realizes suddenly—maybe bravery isn’t leaning too far out the window of your dirty house, ignoring the screaming baby in the kitchen as you draw deep, angry breaths and swear to leave every single piece of this behind. Maybe bravery is finding the courage to close the curtains and turn around and stare at your undersized bedroom, to look at the heavily peeling walls and crayon-scribbled doors and blanket-heaped mattresses and think, this is enough.

Huh, I mentioned screaming three different times…. not sure what that’s supposed to mean. The amount of dashes and commas and run-on sentences that I use is slightly alarming. I hope those were enjoyable, albeit deeply confusing out of context!


Well, I really just want to talk about music, but this is getting long. I’ll leave you with a playlist, how’s that? Tell me what you’re listening to, if you feel like it. Hearing about your favorite artists and songs and lyrics would make my day. :)

today’s top songs:

3 A.M. | Gregory Alan Isakov
Wish You Pain | Andy Grammer
About Today | The National
Ketchum, ID | boygenius
The Men That Drive Me Places | Ben Rector
All The Best | John Prine
Colors | Black Pumas
Walden Pond | Atta Boy
Only Children | Jason Isbell
Young Folks | Sleeping At Last
Walls | The Lumineers
Liar | The Arcadian Wild
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters | The Killers
Bitter Water | The Oh Hellos

Go stand in that patch of warm sunlight on the living room floor, send a letter to someone you miss, force an unsuspecting family member to dance with you, write random haikus on a forgotten pad of sticky notes, or turn your kitchen into a war zone by attempting to bake something.

I will continue to sit here and do none of those things, but you have fun, okay?

*gets up to find socks and forgets that my earbuds are plugged into the laptop*

*takes two steps and promptly dies*

48 thoughts on “monday, 12:01

  1. if you die and go to the Other than that’s not very fair because one, the Here would be less Here without you and two, i wanna come with
    also, my whole mind’s been screaming itself hoarse and tired at everything and this calmed it down in words that i don’t have
    also “In the back corner of the gas station, a yellow sort of quiet hangs in the air.” is exactly how it feels and it made me extremely nostalgic
    also, i want to live in your stories
    also, i’m glad you’re in this one
    also, i love your music and i’m putting it into a playlist so every time the fan gets too loud i can actually breathe
    also, i’ve been listening to the london air raids by vian izak, not alone from avpm, and once in a lifetime by landon austin
    also i love this

    Liked by 1 person

    1. *squishes you in a really tight hug* try to remember that this side of eternity would be a whole lot darker without your existence
      I’m sorry your mind has been so loud, I hope it takes a rest to breathe very soon <3

      Liked by 1 person

  2. This is a fabulously chaotic post, I love it XD
    I also love those snippets, and my creative writing teacher would love them. *wispers* can you do my homework for meeeeeee
    Just kidding, I’m almost done anyway 😂
    Most crazily, ~Olive

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Sorry, sometimes I comment in spurts


      allmyfavoritecolllooorrssss yes ma’am my sisters and my brooootthherrrssss, seeethemmlikenootherrrrrr


      The screaming but the rocking chair keeps rocking is my favorite.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. firstly, who gave you permission to have so many beautiful sunsets pictures in your possession
    secondly the handwriting is such a funny and lovely idea
    thirdly your words never cease to hold magic. never hesitate to share them
    fourthly, i now exit gracefully to go listen to your playlist
    power to the local dreamer ||-//

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I love these! They swept me along, familiar and foreign at the same time. :) I especially loved the snow, immortality, and prism ones.
    Oooh, a playlist! I’ll have to check some of those out.
    <3 ,

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Can you pleeeeeeeeeeease make an anthology? I would read it every day. Seriously. Your writing is amazing and you can *feel* it. I love it.

    (Also, not only do I take long sips from empty mugs, I also leave my computer while still plugged in by my earbuds lol)

    Liked by 2 people

  6. I love Clara-writing-snippets. A lot of writing is black and white, but yours speaks in color. And I love that so much. Also the handwriting on your blog. Gahh. HELP. <3 <3 <3

    Liked by 1 person

  7. these snippets are just… i have no words. they’re so lovely and carry a bunch of different feelings all just swirled and meshed and woven together. my heart is burstingggg, your writing is ART, Clara. <3 <3 <3 (and ooh a playlist! i'll definitely check out all those songs) (also the handwriting is so cute!!)

    Liked by 1 person

  8. “Go stand in that patch of warm sunlight on the living room floor, send a letter to someone you miss, force an unsuspecting family member to dance with you, write random haikus on a forgotten pad of sticky notes, or turn your kitchen into a war zone by attempting to bake something.”


    Liked by 2 people

  9. OOooh.
    Your writing is amazing, Clara! SO BEAUTIFUL! I’m just sitting here with my mouth hanging open and wondering how on earth you manage to evoke so much emotion and depth in a few short sentences! You’re a natural. ❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 2 people

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