Back From the Dead

I am a hopeless romantic and I have always been troubled by the idea that we are only allowed to live one life at the current moment. I craved to live in Norway for my childhood or become a painter in Madrid, the possibilities of life are so enchanting. For this reason I love photographs and books because using both these objects I am able to place myself somewhere else for awhile. My personality is a mix breed but enfj makes sense for me, dreamer, optimist, nostalgic, romantic. I live vicariously through the photographs I hoard in a basket beside my bed, family members I never met, people who managed to be in the background of a family photo, so many stories that I could create and watch in my mind. My longing for time is something that haunts me as is my ability to fall in love with little details of strangers I meet. I joke with my friends that I wish I could collect people and they think I am crazy until I explain to them that I observe things with great attention. I enjoy watching and I do take part in life but analyzing the behaviors of humanity sparks my interests and lets me think of stories I would want to write. People are both monsters and works of art, utterly complex and so beautiful. I get attached to moments, feelings, people, places, songs, and elaborate series of events in my mind. When I look at the photos I feel so completely happy, I make trips to my attic to get more photos to add to the basket. Many times I will get so caught up while looking at them and sit up there for hours but I enjoy that time. The photos allow me to forget reality for a bit which is something every dreamer needs to survive. The basket of photographs next to my bed is precious to me. My bookshelf is another crucial object in my life. Books have always been present for me, when I was younger I would watch my dad read thick books about life and modern sciences or politics. He would have stacks of books all over his desk, all over his nightstand and filling under the bed. My mom would collect old antique books and pile them in every hallway and on top of tables in every room. It makes sense to me now that I volunteer in both the school and public library and take advantage of any book sale ever. My bookshelf holds all the people I have ever been and best friends I have made. They are like photo albums. The books and the photos hold the same purpose to me. It was never the idea that I was stuck with who I was because I am confident in the quirky and clumsy person I am but rather the idea that I could experience more things than reality would let me. I could cheat reality. I would lend books from my bookshelves when I felt it was their time to grace someone else for a bit. The books had also been antidotes. I lent them to those who could be benefited from the story the greatest at that moment and my friends would read them and they would understand because they felt understood. The power of literature is something I find hard to fathom but will always remain fascinated by. Through the magic in old photographs and worn in books I found comfort and my wanderlust was tamed while I traveled to faraway places and met people who didn’t yet know I existed.
-Ember Nocturne

What We Thought We Already Knew

It was because we were allowed to convert religions and dye our own hair that we felt old

old in the sense that we were free, independent, and rightfully so we could become someone so different from who we had been the day before

the sequence of events that created an angsty period of our short lives called high school became nights spent watching lolita

or cursing loudly with passion in our eyes regarding a book about teenage suicide and the virgins who fled their Catholic parents before they tasted alcohol

We felt a temporary fix of adulthood, idolizing dead men whose synth was the soundtrack to our adolescence 

we thought we knew things about people and what it meant to love

a romantic hormonal pessimist will never understand the deepest definition of love until she is there, in that moment of final admiration

otherwise said hormonal optimist teen will fall in love everyday on public transport or in the safety of her bedroom, watching strangers walk on the sidewalk, each of those people leaving her with a glimpse of a life on some faraway planet, exsisting only in the crevaces of her mind, she wrote their stories threaded together by lies

we were old because we knew that people could feel shitty and darkness comes quickly sometimes leaving you breathless or making you want to vomit or sing or preach or cry or dance or laugh half heartedly at misfortune

and when we watch men of great stature falling from great heights because of some kind of addiction

we recognize the face of repression

and the paradox of humanity

we read to escape suburbia and to find solace

we are nocturnals, insomniacs without a reason to dream because we thought we knew reality

just because you wear black doesn't mean you know life has given you the worst its got

just because you say something you heard on the news doesn't mean you know more than the common man

just because you can carve your name into a tree that will grow to be a 100 doesn't mean you will leave legends

and just because you declare yourself an original doesn't mean you have had a thought of your own

little girl, this is a cruel world and your tongue hasn't tasted ignorance 

little girl you know but one thing, humans are complex creatures and those who claim to know Gods secrets

are lying, convinced themselves blind and power hungry leaches

there is no hell, little girl, I am a walking paradox

but if we learn to forgive

he who is almighty must forgive

otherwise he shall be a hypocrite like me

otherwise he would be a human

we thought we were old because we were simply alive and doing things on impulse and doing things with a few more years in our back pockets

nobody knows what we had thought we knew

-Ember Nocturne