Nineteen as ‘The Five Senses’ (On: A Summary Of The Year)

~ song of the year~ 

Sight
Pearly toned sunsets: soft pinks, light purples, shimmering silvers melting together into a weird looking sky. Frayed ends dyed blonde and permanent marker stained hands. Very delicate, but almost beautiful in it’s frailty. Like a sand castle you try to imprint with shells. Creating something beautiful on foundations that were born to crumble. No sudden movement.             IMG_2254.jpg       IMG_1122.jpgIMG_2163.jpg

Smell
Smooth, smoky smells. Like if lilac had a scent, or satin, or storm clouds. Heady aroma of rain on the pavement; that city mix of fresh water and dust and slightly burnt rubber, so thick you can taste it as you breathe in. Acrid fire roaring from a broken toaster, brownie oozing sweet in the oven. Fake berry candles that sticks to your skin and fruit cruisers muffled into clothing. Muted sweetness.
IMG_0886.jpgXVOB5209.jpgIMG_2066.jpgSound
Splash of water as you rush through a puddle. The slow, repetitive thumping of the dryer. Rumbling of a cats purr vibrating against your chest. Steady bass, rising like a heartbeat. Breathy, throaty laughter, when you are  almost crying and you don’t really know if it’s because you’re incredibly happy or heart-achingly sad. Rush of the wind catapulting over everything else, like the whole world is spinning, screaming, inside your ears. Sudden, gentle quiet.IMG_6629.jpg IMG_5873.jpgTaste
Salty, but in a faint, melancholy way, like the shadow of waves rather than the real thing. Smooth, tender. Hot but lacks flavour, no sophistication of spice. The occasional crunch of sweet honey that never quite coats your whole tongue. Bitter aftertaste lingering metallic against your teeth.
IMG_1103.jpgIMG_5782.jpg Feel
Burning hands on hot crockery. Newly washed linen warm against your chest from the drier. Heat and damp seeping into your skin as you absorb the movement of the crowd surrounding you. Fresh sting of the cold clawing at your skin, tearing into your lips. The envelop of a hug. Tug-of-war year; rope burns changing to heart-stopping looseness as you fall back. Bittersweet satisfaction of being the grazed knee champion. Success tingling at your fingertips but still, a familiar kind of ache when you look at the sky.
IMG_2480.jpgIMG_3655.jpgIMG_8445.jpgNot the best year. A lot of tears year. Learnt not to fear year. Still kind of care year. Made it here year. Bring on the next year.

Actually getting my posts done for July! See you on the other side of my birthday xx

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s