tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603539520398557562024-03-05T21:55:39.958-08:00Words Capturing the MomentsA picture can say a thousand words. A thousand words can paint a masterpiece.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-18141007103378880482014-11-06T11:54:00.000-08:002014-11-06T11:54:16.119-08:00Meaning<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was nothing to anticipate. And perhaps that was the most daunting notion; that his life wouldn’t lead to anything; that he would spend the rest of his years waiting for nothing. That’s what he found himself thinking about much of the time. But people couldn't see that just by looking at him, of course. Yet, there were some that knew his inner thoughts and could anticipate for him, for they knew of his greatness and were eager to show him the wonder that is the future.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years he had lived and still he knew not why he lived except for the sake of time. Or was he living simply because he was born? He spent his younger years searching and somehow his search extended into his adulthood.</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-334c43f8-86aa-6209-4127-72faeef8e4f3"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was bright—not scholarly, per say, but intellectual and capable of great thought. It could be seen in his eyes. But when he looked into his own eyes, he couldn't see the spectacular world his mind kept hidden. He couldn't see the final product of his scattered thoughts and random dreams. Were they to be conglomerated into a meaning for his life? He did not know.</span></div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-63784464832443078022014-10-22T20:29:00.001-07:002014-10-22T20:29:54.178-07:00The Enemy Is of the EssenceTime is a funny thing. It moves like water, sometimes. Sometimes like fire. Sometimes, even, like the earth. It can flow and cascade through your fingertips, making you feel it and feel alive. It can flash and crackle and spring into action, a wild sea of heat and movement that demolishes the past and even the present. And it can stay still, whether steadfast and unshakable or seemingly lifeless and frozen.<div>
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When I'm with you, time is a water that cleanses my body, my soul, and clears my vision like raindrops trickling down a window pane. When I'm with you, time is a fire that scares me with it's rage and unpredictability and yet, those things make me feel more alive than ever; they unleash a passion and a will to use this life for more than breathing. When I'm with you, time doesn't stand still enough, but there is a permanence to our togetherness that I cling to. And I hope, I pray—to anyone or anything if there is no God—that time is on my side here and that it doesn't sweep you up, out of my arms, and into my past.</div>
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Time may be the enemy but time is of the essence. I will never take for granted a single second, a single moment, a single instant spent with you.</div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-85763929167043852014-09-20T14:02:00.000-07:002014-09-20T14:02:00.149-07:00FluffMy soul is blanketed.<div>
It's blanketed in love.</div>
<div>
So,</div>
<div>
I suppose,</div>
<div>
It is not my soul that I speak of,</div>
<div>
But my heart;</div>
<div>
My heart.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I just want to write a song so beautiful that Time is touched by it and blesses me with lingering moments of love.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Oh, dear. I simply must stop with all of this fluff.</div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-40028091361083157062014-09-15T20:29:00.002-07:002014-09-25T12:11:33.277-07:00Silent MusicWhen I think of us, and I know this is weird, but, I hear music. When I picture us together, there is this soundtrack that goes along with that picture. The significance of this, I believe, is that there is a soul to the very existence of you and I together.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Before I go any further, if you are reading this, please understand that sometimes I fluff up my blog posts to correspond with the whole wordscapturingthemoments.blogspot.com theme. So, if you're like, "Woah, this girl is crazy," then fear not, for I am perfectly normal. I just like to use sappy words and colorful language. But in all honesty, you definitely are something special. Don't get freaked out by that. Please.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Blink 182 exudes an individuality that is parallel to our personalities and belief that we are who we are and can be anything. At least, that's the sense I get from you.</div>
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<div>
Van Morrison, although we haven't listened to him together, defines the ease of us being together. It's the music of the mornings with you. And for some reason, I see us making pancakes together and dancing around the kitchen to "More Than a Feeling" by Bon Iver. And not to be too cliche, but I also hear "Happy Together" by The Turtles. That's just a fun-loving song. I mean, c'mon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There is a particular music for waking up next to you, with your arms wrapped around me. One song that comes to mind is "Closing Time" by Semisonic.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
But before the morning comes—before we drift off into separate worlds—there is a different song that lulls me to sleep, urging me to dream of you. Sitting on your roof, staring up at the stars, I hear "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World. I'm sitting in front of you with your arms wrapped around me. You rock me back and forth to a rhythm neither of us need ears to hear. Your hands find mine and hold them tightly to tell me you won't let go. Our breathing slows and synchronizes to our imaginary music. The bridge comes. You whisper something in my ear and then the chorus erupts and your lips are against mine as a drop of water falls from above and lands softly on a cheek. And there we sit in the cold air of the night filled with silent music.</div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-44945177358951341832014-09-02T21:53:00.003-07:002014-09-02T21:53:18.627-07:00I'm LuckySometimes people are lucky. That's not to say I believe in luck. Actually, I guess that does mean I believe in it. But I believe that luck is something that is granted to those that deserve it and need it. It's not handed out freely. It's not like being born into wealth or being naturally gifted with superior singing talent. Luck is a combination of Fate, Karma, and a person's soul. And you know what? While I still can't understand why, I'm lucky.<br />
<br />
That moment. What was it? There was something about that moment that will forever linger in my mind, in my heart. I'm starting to believe it was magic. Yes, magic. That must've been what it was. And is.<br />
<br />
There's something about you—and I know that sounds cliché, but it's true—that draws me to you. And something tells me that the feeling I'm feeling is reciprocated. There is this balance in my life that I had once lost and you have restored. But you've gone beyond restoring it. You have built to what it never was or could've been without our meeting.<br />
<br />
Lord, I sound like such a sap; such a romantic. I suppose I am.<br />
<br />
I love how we can coax a smile from each other. I love how we can be kids and not worry about growing up. And yet, I love how we see a real world around us. We see a real world around us but we are surrounded by fantasy. (That's hard to interpret. I just liked the sound of it.) I love how we hold each other and it feels more natural than breathing.<br />
<br />
I'm lucky.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-46226927691096226552014-08-16T17:45:00.000-07:002014-08-16T17:45:07.711-07:00Too CloseI suppose this awful feeling I have going on right now is frustration. Just frustration. But it's a complicated, delicate, layered frustration that originates from something I treasure beyond gold: my mom. Well, that is not to say she is the cause for my frustration. The world just happens to work in such a way that me going away to college and her wanting me to stay and me wanting to have all the freedom life can offer and she trying to knock some reality into my thick skull isn't something easily dealt with.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's a combination of problems that has me so overwhelmed. Maybe there are no problems and that, in itself, is a problem. Oh, gosh. I don't know. I'm stuck in neutral, but I want to drive. I want to leave my past in the dust. Yet, I want to sit in my car with the windows down and listen to the frogs and crickets that kept me awake in my bed night after night from my earliest years until now.<br />
<br />
Ugh. Then again, I've always been sheltered and given boundaries. Sometimes I didn't need boundaries because I wasn't even given the space for them. And now? Now I can taste life outside my little Rapunzel tower. No. I can smell it. That's the problem. It's so close. Too close.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-34754652890234307962014-08-03T09:20:00.001-07:002014-08-03T09:21:08.924-07:00And So It Goes<p dir="ltr">I'll try my best. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I should've known better. I should've put two and two together and got forever. Okay, not forever. I'm just being melodramatic. But the truth is, I shouldn't have sabotaged my own happiness. Is it the human condition? No, I think it's just my crappy condition. It'll work out, though. Won't it? It always seems to. And if it doesn't, then what? Then, whatever. The Lord may have giveth you, but I hath pusheth away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Who knew that by getting closer you can push someone so far away?</p>
<p dir="ltr">How much do I invest? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Well, I think I invested a little too much and the market crashed. Or, at least, is in a recession. </p>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-19265535233317170242014-07-26T09:07:00.001-07:002014-07-26T09:07:57.820-07:00Hesitation<p dir="ltr">How untimely. How perfectly imperfect that I meet such a person as he. And while I act indifferently towards the future, beneath my confident and rational facade, I'm just as unsure about this as I am about the greatest perplexities of mankind. His call to acknowledge reality is resoundingly mature and perhaps too unpalatable for my naiveté. I still insist that I have erupted from that adolescent perception of love that made me once a fool, but I fear a regression. I fear a change too irreversible for a love with no antidote.</p>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-66884923450970327882014-07-07T18:58:00.002-07:002014-07-07T18:58:47.884-07:00That Special WayYou held like you always have. That special way. Only you can hold me that way. That way. And the way you looked at me. The way you look at me. It brought tears to my eyes. Not your everyday tears. They weren't these salty, stinging drops. They were like liquid glass, making my world clearer, brighter. That is how you make my world. And as you spun me around and I smiled behind and in front of my tears, so did you. You smiled and laughed and cried and when all was said and done, you held me in that special way. That special way that a mommy hugs her baby.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-32455795519785359282014-07-02T16:36:00.000-07:002014-07-02T16:36:35.817-07:001997When this post was first published—which is strange since I haven't even finished this little writing exercise, if you will, nor have I decided what it ought to be about—this blog had just hit 1,997 views. In 1997, I was one year old. Now, of what relevance this has to what I'm about to write, I don't know. Actually, as I said, I don't know what I'm typing about, wasting up pixels like a terrible computer graphic (perhaps you've heard of Atari's "E.T." video game). Alright, I suppose it's about time to begin talking about something of at least some significance.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was thinking earlier today, whilst wasting (I waste a lot) away the day on YouTube (but isn't that the most human thing a person of the year 2014 can do?). By the time I completed the following videos, I came up with a splendid idea.</div>
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<br /></div>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT0hj6VTFzU</div>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6PxMRUgmbA</div>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_y0SCQJvA1c</div>
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If I ever have a grand ole group of friends—not that I don't have plenty of grand ole friends, but you know... the <i>Friends</i> variety of, well, friends—I plan on starting up "YouTube Night". On this night, once a month or week, we'd spend our time sharing our YouTube discoveries attempting to have the best video share. Then, we'd vote on our favorites to decide the winner.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Okay, okay. Don't ask why this began with my mentioning the view count. Maybe, just maybe, I'm subtly attempting to encourage you to share this blog and subscribe and boost my feverish writing and overall inscribed psychotic cranium explosion. Toodles, ta-ta, and take care.</div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-75585673377526783202014-06-07T16:26:00.001-07:002014-06-07T16:26:37.764-07:00And Just Like Magic...Let's talk about magic.<br />
<br />
When I say magic, I mean love.<br />
<br />
Sometimes magic can be abused. Sometimes it can be startling. Sometimes it can be just what the doctor ordered. Sometimes it can be, well, magical.<br />
<br />
And Just Like Magic<br />
<br />
And,<br />
Just like magic,<br />
Love comes as a surprise.<br />
And sometimes,<br />
Sometimes,<br />
It's a sunrise;<br />
Soft,<br />
Sweet,<br />
Warm,<br />
New.<br />
As it rises,<br />
You see the rays,<br />
Like the sparks of a first meeting;<br />
Exciting<br />
And enrapturing.<br />
And as the sun glides<br />
Across the sky,<br />
Your world is made warm–<br />
Sometimes hot,<br />
Heated by passion.<br />
Then,<br />
The sun begins to set.<br />
It begins to descend<br />
Into the scheme of forever–<br />
That endless cycle<br />
Of never-ending sunrises and sunsets.<br />
And so,<br />
Even though in the darkness we are left in,<br />
We cannot see tomorrow,<br />
We know it will come<br />
And that the night is darkest<br />
Just before the sun rises.<br />
And the sun is set;<br />
Set on its course.<br />
A display of magic<br />
That never ceases to amaze,<br />
As it never fails to reign.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-80256686068365270312014-05-14T15:00:00.001-07:002014-05-14T15:00:16.331-07:00The Boy Who Couldn't LaughOnce upon a time, there was a little boy who couldn't laugh. The people in his village pitied him, but the boy had magical powers. When people laughed at him, he would scowl and release a flash of magic from his fingertips that would shut off their laughter.<br />
<br />
After many years, the village was cloaked in an aura of sadness. The people pleaded with the boy to break his spells, but he refused.<br />
<br />
One day, a stranger entered the village. The stranger was a young girl of seventeen years who carried a mirror in her hand. Upon realizing that something was eerily different about this village, she asked a woman what was wrong.<br />
<br />
“There is a young man that has silenced our laughter with magic,” she said. The young girl cocked her head in befuddlement.<br />
<br />
“But why?”<br />
<br />
“Because he cannot laugh himself,” was the reply. Then, the young girl began to laugh. She couldn’t stop.<br />
<br />
“How ridiculous and impossible,” she thought.<br />
<br />
From the window of his cottage, the young sorcerer saw the girl laughing. In a rage, he stormed out of his home and approached her. In an instant, his hand was raised to the girl, ready to cast his spell. Sparks shot out of his hand and through the air. From behind her back, the girl pulled out her mirror and faced it towards the man.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash.<br />
<br />
The young girl, still laughing, stood there and watched the sorcerer as he came near. Hesitantly, he peered into the mirror. It was then when he began to laugh. In the mirror, he saw a man with milk-white skin, a bright, red nose, and blue ellipses over his eyelids.<br />
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Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-2396724836358385432014-05-13T16:06:00.000-07:002014-05-13T16:06:08.309-07:00And Now Here I Am, The FoolWell, "I knew you were trouble." God, did I know. I even wrote about it on here a couple times (those posts are unavailable). I even said that you're friends with the ex-girlfriend so that had to be bad news. And guess what? It was. It is. I don't even know what to make of you.<br />
<br />
You make me wanna set a stampede of buffalo on you<br />
Like in The Lion King, you'd stumble as they'd hustle you<br />
And you'd scream, but the stomping would muffle you<br />
And I'd be sitting in a bungalow eating a chocolate truffle, ohhhhhHannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-88196302453225596002014-05-10T15:48:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:57:57.102-07:00ZeroHe had a smile that never failed him. Even after many years of use, it maintained its ability to mend a broken heart or to heal grief-stricken eyes. It spoke in such a loud but comforting voice. It spoke to those afraid to die and those afraid to live.<br />
<br />
He brushed his teeth three times a day, every day. He used to count his brushstrokes. Now, he starts to count, then forgets what he is counting. Sometimes he keeps counting because he thinks it will lead him back to where he started. But most times he stops. When he stops, he looks in the mirror. Then, he starts to cry.<br />
<br />
Today, he doesn’t stop. One, two, three… broken vase, then small, triangular darkness, footsteps above… seven, eight, nine… spinning, then hard, cold, flat… thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… first, kiss, scream… nineteen, twenty, twenty-one… wet, cold, deafening, corpses… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven… a woman, ring, sobbing, asking, wanting, wondering… thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three… black, dirt, stone… thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine… bedtime, stories, teddy… forty-three, forty-four, forty-five… lost, police, worry… forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one… cap, diploma… fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven… breath, gasp, sweat, chest… sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three… humidity, hot, ocean… sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine… visit, greeting cards, toys… seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five… stranger, intruder… seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one… “Who are you and where am I…?”<br />
<br />
...seventy-eight, seventy-seven, seventy-six… tree, car, thunderstorm, typewriter… seventy-two, seventy-one, seventy… white, bed, gala, garden… sixty-six, sixty-five, sixty-four… Bingo, Olympics, walking… sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight… dinner, evening, girlfriend… fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two… wedding, family, spring… forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six… bottle, then spinning, skidding, crash, court, help… forty-two, forty-one, forty… late, coffee, office, meeting, fired… thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four… flowers, then nightmares, brave, tissue, smile, diaper… thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight… therapy, past, cleanse, anniversary, hesitation, comfort, conception… twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two… interview, schedule, hired, productive, city… eighteen, seventeen, sixteen… test, then failure, a want to escape, a lie, the army… twelve, eleven, ten… a mother, mine, gone, alone, defenseless… six, five, four… a man in white, hands, covering my mouth, kicking, touching, crying… zero.<br />
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Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-13932313033086688862014-04-24T17:59:00.001-07:002014-04-24T18:49:30.524-07:00A Grand GenerationMy grandmother just passed away. She was 92 years old. Her name was Philomena Vuozzo. Her health had been fluctuating for the past year. She fought hard. In fact, the last time my family visited her at the nursing home, she had seemed to recover from a recent condition.<br />
<br />
Only a couple of weeks ago, she was suffering from an unknown problem that made her very sleepy. She was unable to stay awake and it seemed as though she wouldn't be able to pull through; but she did. Then, today, for some strange reason—a riddle as old as time itself—she went to Heaven.<br />
<br />
Maybe she missed Grandpa. Now she is an angel; at least, an angel in a different place, a better place. She is sitting next to Grandpa, hand in hand, making her friends laugh while God makes us cry. Yet, we are lucky; for her own laughter forever echoes in our hearts and her smile is stamped on our souls.<br />
<br />
And now, four beautiful souls that touched my life like no others are together in Heaven. They are the grand generation, in every sense of the word.<br />
<br />
I love you, Grandpa and Grandma Stevenson. I love you, Grandpa and Grandma Vuozzo. I love you. I love you. I love you. Ti amo.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-45545057583935418072014-04-22T13:19:00.002-07:002014-04-22T13:19:59.018-07:00CookiesSo...<br />
<br />
I am in very good spirits today. I had a splendid workout this morning and have stuck to my healthy diet (oh, wow, one day). Anyways, in all of this cheer, I want to bake cookies. Yes, right after I mention how I am being all healthy, I have a desire to not be healthy. What a predicament I am in. Oh, well. I suppose I'll just get by on tea and a good time. That reminds me; I wrote a song and some of the lyrics were, "We'll get by, on love and wine." It's funny because I don't drink wine.<br />
<br />
Where was I? Oh, yes. Cookies. I'll battle it out. If I make them, then I can only have a couple and maybe it'll do me some good to exercise my will-power. Then again, if I don't make them, that is also exercising my will-power. Blahhhhh.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-45589549703710819352014-04-21T17:05:00.000-07:002014-04-21T17:05:06.666-07:00Weight Off My Shoulders (And Everywhere Else on My Body)I want to lose weight and tone up. I know I'm quite healthy and I have a decent body, but I want to be, well, hot. I'm sick of kicking myself in the (fat) ass every time I eat a piece of candy. I love to run, but then, I love to procrastinate too. It makes the whole idea of getting fit a little illogical. So, while I've had my short-term good spurts and my long-term failure periods, I'm going to just get to it.<br />
<br />
I once tried this diet plan and let me tell you: It works. Of course, I wasn't going as hardcore as they suggested, but I wasn't in a hurry to lose ten pounds in a week. Seriously, though. Now that Easter is over, I don't have any holidays to get in my way and mess with my self-control.<br />
<br />
http://voices.yahoo.com/bikini-emergency-lose-10-pounds-week-6224706.html<br />
<br />
I don't have that much on my plate anymore with school winding down so I'll be able to exercise much more. It's a good time of year to buy fresh produce so I won't have an excuse for eating unhealthy, processed foods. The weather is nice so I can't say that it's too cold to run or be outside. Just with those things in mind, I think I'm in a good place. However, we all know that we make these decisions and then we counter them. Well, I'm going to do my best not to. So, if it's not too much trouble, comment whenever you feel inclined. Thank you.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-70776683360193575592014-04-16T17:36:00.001-07:002014-04-16T17:36:51.440-07:00Country Music (Don't Ignore This Just Because You're Not a Fan Because You Might Gain Some Respect For It)Maybe you don't drink a ton of beer or drive a pick-up truck, but the messages in country music are universal.<br />
<br />
Country music speaks for itself. What does the word "country" mean? It means "the people of a nation". Country music is music about the people of a nation. Now, while there are some people who don't comprehend this (ethnicity is not the same as nationality or nation of citizenship), it cannot be disputed that Americans share a set of core values: family, friendship, and the love that those two things encompass. That's what country music is all about. It's about life in its purest form.<br />
<br />
Some songs talk about squirrels ("Country Girl" by Luke Bryan), some about wine ("Strawberry Wine" by Deana Carter), some about trucks (too many to pick one), and even more about beer (obviously). These are just symbols of family, friends, and love.<br />
<br />
Squirrels seem a bit ambiguous, but, when you think about it, and this may be a tad absurd, squirrels are a common part of life (at least, for me and for most people in the Northeast). That's a symbol of stability and, the more obvious symbol, silliness.<br />
<br />
Then, we have wine. Wine is characteristic of people. Wine is deep. Wine is alive and laid-back. Wine is sweet and bitter; strawberry wine is bittersweet. So, maybe, wine is more a symbol of life because we all know it isn't always sweet.<br />
<br />
Trucks and beer... now, those aren't exactly symbols, but the songs that they are written into are stories about life. We all have those. Trucks and beer seem to characterize a lifestyle. We don't all have the same lifestyle, but we can relate to those that things that make us reminisce about our childhood or our first love or our people—those that make us who we are. Maybe the truck that Kip Moore talks about in a farmer's field with a girl in a red sundress is your grandma's Honda Civic in the movie theater parking-lot with a girl in UGG boots. But there was something about that night, something in the way that girl looked at you, that made you remember every detail of the whole evening. So, trucks and beer just might be what connect people to, well, people.<br />
<br />
Maybe you don't drink a ton of beer or drive a pick-up truck, but the messages in country music are universal. Country music is about life and it's your challenge to translate someone else's story into your own. How much more enriching can music get?Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-48451936926769905052014-04-12T15:10:00.000-07:002014-04-12T15:12:58.181-07:00Vision Clouded by Your Smoke<div>
Go and search in the clouds</div>
<div>
Try to find what's in the mirror</div>
<div>
When it's all fogged up</div>
<div>
Somehow things seem clearer</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And maybe it's for the best</div>
<div>
Your vision is blurry</div>
<div>
But you can't see where you're going</div>
<div>
Yet you're running, always in a hurry</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So when you fall</div>
<div>
Don't dare say it's my fault</div>
<div>
That would come across as a joke</div>
<div>
'Cause your vision is clouded by your smoke</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since when did blindness become</div>
<div>
Just another state of mind</div>
<div>
The state of affairs is getting complicated</div>
<div>
And we're running out of time</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Just another night</div>
<div>
But if you reach into the haze</div>
<div>
Realize you could be jumping</div>
<div>
Into hell all ablaze</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
So if you drown</div>
<div>
In your sea of smoke</div>
<div>
It's not a sea 'cause you can't see where you're goin'</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And when you fall</div>
<div>
Don't dare say it's my fault</div>
<div>
That would come across as a joke</div>
<div>
'Cause your vision is clouded by your smoke</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Maybe for the best</div>
<div>
Vision is blurry</div>
<div>
Can't see where you're going</div>
<div>
Yet you're in a hurry</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
And when you fall</div>
<div>
Don't dare say it's my fault</div>
<div>
<div>
And when you drown</div>
<div>
In your sea of smoke</div>
<div>
It's not a sea 'cause you can't see where you're goin'</div>
</div>
<div>
'Cause your vision is clouded by your smoke</div>
</div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-10412172231483355932014-04-06T14:07:00.000-07:002014-04-06T14:15:36.581-07:00If You Ever Thought About Me...If you ever thought about me, you should know that I thought about you more.<br />
<br />
I've thought about you every day. And today, I was overcome by a feeling. It was a moment of weakness, in one sense, and a moment of sense, in another sense. A sixth sense, if you will. It was the feeling that I couldn't keep you out anymore. So I opened the door a crack and you stuck your foot in the opening.<br />
<br />
Even if this isn't something, it's everything. You know what I mean.<br />
<br />
The next step will probably be harder and easier. I'll have to tell you that I'm sorry and I'll be lucky enough to talk to you, if I do.<br />
<br />
Thank God for moments of weakness that make us stronger.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-58318334468928504422014-03-30T09:58:00.000-07:002014-03-30T09:58:00.344-07:00The TransitionCollege. What a daunting word. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm uber excited for the entire experience. In fact, there are many occasions at which college seems too far away (e.g. when I have a ten-page senior thesis due... then again, I'll have plenty of those in college). But when it gets down to it, the transition from high school to college is bittersweet. There are few that can argue the other way (successfully).<br />
<br />
This year (so far) has been so wonderful. It makes me smile when I think about all of the beautiful people in my life. My days, because of them, consist of endless strings of laughter and a smile as constant as the stars. They all know who they are. One thing I should note is that, this year, I've made so many more friends and I'm very happy that I decided to immerse myself in so many different activities and events.<br />
<br />
I've learned a lot about, well, everything. My teachers teach me formulas and dates, but, more than that, they teach me about life. I'm extremely blessed to know so many extraordinary people. They don't realize how influential they are in the lives of their students.<br />
<br />
Then, I think about college. I'm going to get a roommate (ahhhhhh). I'm going to have demanding classes (good-bye, senioritis). I'm not going to have my mom nearby (gosh, what am I going to do when I need a hug?). But I'm going to meet new, interesting people. I'm going to go to new, interesting places. I'm going to learn new, interesting things. So, chances are, that I'll get by. After all, Mommy and Daddy are just a phone-call (or Skype-call) away.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-4792529059108967332014-03-23T09:56:00.003-07:002014-03-23T09:59:11.146-07:00Photography<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
If I had a photography portfolio, this would be it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Comment your favorite and I will use the most-liked one for my blog wallpaper. Thank you.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2JC8DxHdHfQDfuc9ro0xl-MkesU0N51FagxKzwSFMf_QQSIBNSEVugY6yGuQyvUOFUbT2akybhA5shDyrHCfkd0wklG-Rbnz7gMX_mqbx1VysWhS4sxDrPNE1OfncDlQEmUKKtruvg4/s1600/10147619_259842254190054_691077967_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2JC8DxHdHfQDfuc9ro0xl-MkesU0N51FagxKzwSFMf_QQSIBNSEVugY6yGuQyvUOFUbT2akybhA5shDyrHCfkd0wklG-Rbnz7gMX_mqbx1VysWhS4sxDrPNE1OfncDlQEmUKKtruvg4/s1600/10147619_259842254190054_691077967_o.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ambiguity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CqLAbwGYXtXAB6nIHLVNUKgO3ytmwqVwZGSbxZLofKw_NO6ejKLKsYdog2bYOl0WxJ9WQF55Fwoxn4tn9vIEi3SmnHBrbglzJPiYJIUsbWLudezqXzpoV16SMDl6WLINMa6xUXKz7bs/s1600/20140304_144046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CqLAbwGYXtXAB6nIHLVNUKgO3ytmwqVwZGSbxZLofKw_NO6ejKLKsYdog2bYOl0WxJ9WQF55Fwoxn4tn9vIEi3SmnHBrbglzJPiYJIUsbWLudezqXzpoV16SMDl6WLINMa6xUXKz7bs/s1600/20140304_144046.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behind the Left-Wing Curtain<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVJ1Yfjr9pZvJTjvrA4gHhKvdO3DxV2p8j3ipDWn6pGibawVjpZcS2yWbUQO6KTUJZpIZ87rdGml19hEtwtW5e0KRmNrxjaJPrBlZxUZkQNDQKykUiYkyBGL9a6Ud1_L9ouwMEb9jfTk/s1600/1451536_216779178496362_1831122737_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVJ1Yfjr9pZvJTjvrA4gHhKvdO3DxV2p8j3ipDWn6pGibawVjpZcS2yWbUQO6KTUJZpIZ87rdGml19hEtwtW5e0KRmNrxjaJPrBlZxUZkQNDQKykUiYkyBGL9a6Ud1_L9ouwMEb9jfTk/s1600/1451536_216779178496362_1831122737_n.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Leather and Looks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLUUX285d8VBrJKdP0wvDTidiB8YwzNIQxapN0pcan3Xw6XvyvpfuH2NpongcB3yp38gujS9WiiINV0W1P7wz6EuLbuQ6ZLXOY9u436M0GQy1cCf5R6fwoQos9-yVmA_xcm6eVpEIBI8/s1600/cup+and+ink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLUUX285d8VBrJKdP0wvDTidiB8YwzNIQxapN0pcan3Xw6XvyvpfuH2NpongcB3yp38gujS9WiiINV0W1P7wz6EuLbuQ6ZLXOY9u436M0GQy1cCf5R6fwoQos9-yVmA_xcm6eVpEIBI8/s1600/cup+and+ink.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ink and Water Collide</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSe8s8r82YkNqOTRStmCeoTIEJdJPwDQrDmDTDkoDi2inmYEGq_C9o9N_TDTHDNsD5bjV6Wl18F9NstH5LFtYVNAM8A8OP_1XYw53ArYymKJH7VS4TzZUWA4eHYkAtXPaYC_wwBGQAwVU/s1600/duane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSe8s8r82YkNqOTRStmCeoTIEJdJPwDQrDmDTDkoDi2inmYEGq_C9o9N_TDTHDNsD5bjV6Wl18F9NstH5LFtYVNAM8A8OP_1XYw53ArYymKJH7VS4TzZUWA4eHYkAtXPaYC_wwBGQAwVU/s1600/duane.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rehearsal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIz4KEr-iX2MIlaYIn3FGpQ6Tr5lm_uxrPw3bURvzD5bgxBngh9IxU0Q57otedBi4r8952HckPem98yjCLVabTLfgjN3SBcEDn8TyWRUCnE79Q6S7dCe42DjQlcyxAXtiiqnrVqOeSIY/s1600/edglass1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIz4KEr-iX2MIlaYIn3FGpQ6Tr5lm_uxrPw3bURvzD5bgxBngh9IxU0Q57otedBi4r8952HckPem98yjCLVabTLfgjN3SBcEDn8TyWRUCnE79Q6S7dCe42DjQlcyxAXtiiqnrVqOeSIY/s1600/edglass1.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Properties</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnle7-4gOz4bHXo0lHJrsuuI-Vuu-UtFfZyR44VPIGx2sK3umLOdmnHEJTe9SGh7slYf0iA94SJcRkEBNNGwdoj0T9tMa4QwQfa7hLdvXjfNdZoIFFk_g25nagBwTcoYOma2cGwST1mFA/s1600/egret+thing+ed1+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnle7-4gOz4bHXo0lHJrsuuI-Vuu-UtFfZyR44VPIGx2sK3umLOdmnHEJTe9SGh7slYf0iA94SJcRkEBNNGwdoj0T9tMa4QwQfa7hLdvXjfNdZoIFFk_g25nagBwTcoYOma2cGwST1mFA/s1600/egret+thing+ed1+(1).jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fleeing With the Sun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7dy1D185Lc3ToR4xVMr0zrWw-llqlhc80gT7vMPxqCZbdEB-aXCQPj8a7KJX2DrLJzm-zndIucBhgqeB7DLq3lAZGkqKoaPM6gj5qBy9movW0XThTezV77JFgf8ZDwC-uO1XZu9awcI/s1600/piggy+ed1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7dy1D185Lc3ToR4xVMr0zrWw-llqlhc80gT7vMPxqCZbdEB-aXCQPj8a7KJX2DrLJzm-zndIucBhgqeB7DLq3lAZGkqKoaPM6gj5qBy9movW0XThTezV77JFgf8ZDwC-uO1XZu9awcI/s1600/piggy+ed1.jpg" height="252" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Pig</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4UZls8VB-v-getIoaH1_Zb8EvQd3BeTV_JDYEwjuoylMbtu3R6P88Ft27teUWyiq8M9pllMjwLAUlsJ8Bek3WxycMOnVPOVC53kVayVI76mDQozL86vxFjGm050DtlmH0052JWvVXCM/s1600/pond+ed1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4UZls8VB-v-getIoaH1_Zb8EvQd3BeTV_JDYEwjuoylMbtu3R6P88Ft27teUWyiq8M9pllMjwLAUlsJ8Bek3WxycMOnVPOVC53kVayVI76mDQozL86vxFjGm050DtlmH0052JWvVXCM/s1600/pond+ed1.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upstate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64yOB_CVydcq7wipq8TzUOZmC6_BDuFh4iqOYN50vUIL_n0KE31oP2RuwJ-mblGm0gjGKpzPAZf13Jfq0V3UR_yNATEKCpQ8V-QuRoG-y-EEJwhGkFW8aaAZzgdysCZ5fZz2gz0eo-SU/s1600/meee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64yOB_CVydcq7wipq8TzUOZmC6_BDuFh4iqOYN50vUIL_n0KE31oP2RuwJ-mblGm0gjGKpzPAZf13Jfq0V3UR_yNATEKCpQ8V-QuRoG-y-EEJwhGkFW8aaAZzgdysCZ5fZz2gz0eo-SU/s1600/meee.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In My Youth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphwDcR_MgFEZ2-PEmdXezBhjaDenabQtfbtBBaQqCqoAl-w4Uaw6RYrXKpqx6yJ-O6RgDBPySZQp0l9ZjoGHzLL2NKLpz7egXB9iOeSEev_9iB5PFcXEPDB6y5Q1_e7cCa3n6TDQSYz0/s1600/sarah,+shiau-sing+and+jenny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphwDcR_MgFEZ2-PEmdXezBhjaDenabQtfbtBBaQqCqoAl-w4Uaw6RYrXKpqx6yJ-O6RgDBPySZQp0l9ZjoGHzLL2NKLpz7egXB9iOeSEev_9iB5PFcXEPDB6y5Q1_e7cCa3n6TDQSYz0/s1600/sarah,+shiau-sing+and+jenny.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stage Presence</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-30586782120081179102014-03-07T06:51:00.002-08:002014-03-07T06:51:24.363-08:00I'm Trying to Come Up With a Clever QuoteTrying to be quotable is rather a difficult task. The words come when the need leaves and the whim arrives when the knowledge escapes me.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-12908996134698532452014-03-02T10:05:00.004-08:002014-03-02T10:05:47.511-08:00PoofPoof. "I just lost it."<br />
<br />
What in God's name is that supposed to mean? Do guys have some genetic love extinguisher in their hearts? Is it some involuntary thing that happens—extinguishing a flame? Why is it that one day everything is perfect and then the next thing you know the guy just says it's over with no other explanation than "I just lost it"? And then there's the good, old, faithful It's Not You, It's Me. Oh, c'mon, fellas. You can say that in hopes of sparing our feelings, but when you just get up and go without any notice, we're going to take it personally.<br />
<br />
Four wonderful weeks and now you're gone. You're done. You "just lost it". And I've gained a feeling of helplessness because I have no idea what went wrong when everything felt so right. I wonder if I should have seen it coming. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened to me. At this point, I should just expect that when something—someone—appears too good to be true, it's because they are.<br />
<br />
Was it something I said? Was it because we talked too much or too little? Was it that we never saw each other? Was it because I wrote you a song? Did that cross a line with you? Was it just me? Ugh.<br />
<br />
You were so perfect. And I never felt the way I did—and kind of still do—about anyone before. I know that it'll be a long time before something comes along that is anything close to you. I keep kicking myself in the head for not using Gorilla Glue on you and I.<br />
<br />
God. If you're reading this right now, I hope you're sad. No, I don't mean that. I just hope for the better and miss the best. Does that even make sense? I hope you're happy. When you find someone that is as perfect for you as you were for me, I hope you don't let her slip away. And if she does slip away, then maybe, just maybe, you'll understand what this is like for me.<br />
<br />
Poof. I just found it.Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360353952039855756.post-16903587748411864162014-02-17T17:40:00.003-08:002014-02-17T17:40:47.529-08:00HandsHands covered in what looks like soot, but with much more of a gleam. Everything touched is left with faint fingerprints; miniature, ash-like, contour maps. The skin beneath the ash is smooth and fleshy, but the back of the hands are not the same; the skin is dry and creased every so often. Aggressive wrinkles characterize the skin and yet, there is youth within these hands. Youth of a young artist, living a life through graphite and paper: making marks, making mistakes, making beauty.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every mark on my drawings is a moment in someone's life, be it of joy or sorrow.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I try to draw with feeling, capturing more than the shapes, values, and colors.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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I draw and paint like I write: descriptive and tonal. The latter is key. And life is the lock; indecipherable.</div>
Hannah Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16695594325664665059noreply@blogger.com0