Right now the day length is exactly the same as in spring when birds key into it and begin singing. The birds are a little confused by it all and the singing isn't very intense. It only lasts a week or so each fall, but it's still cool to hear spring bird songs at this time of the year.

Something about being rejected at Church Camp felt so much more awful than being rejected at school.

Her lips tarried at mine. Baiting each other with the warmth of our breath, barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.

How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement - no matter how temporary.

At night, lying on your back and staring at the falling snow, it's easy to imagine oneself soaring through the stars.

You have so many layers, that you can peel away a few, and everyone's so shocked or impressed that you're baring your soul, while to you it's nothing, because you know you've twenty more layers to go.

and yet I feel that the most real home I'll ever have is the space where our roads merged and traveled along together... for a time.