sweet lovers love the spring

It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o’er the green corn-field did pass,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
- Shakespeare, As You Like It

drizzle

welp. now I'm 18 folks.

Sunshine and daffodils, just happiness everywhere.
Actually, I'm still in a melancholy mood, which personally I'm quite enjoying. There is something oddly comforting about grey days and mournful melodies.
I feel creative and inspired, yet unmotivated and easily distracted... but what else it new.
I have plans for 18. Big plans.
I want to make a list of 20 things to do before I'm 20, because 20 is a rather terrifying thought for me, and in all reality, it's not that far away.
I could sit and fill volumes with all the shades of grey that I'm feeling. I want to light candles and sit in the silence of flickering light, imagining and hoping. A thought comes, and then flickers away before I can pin it down and admire the beauty of its dazzling wings, but that is probably for the best. This way I never get the chance to kill these vibrant imaginings and dreams by mounting them on my wall.
I feel the need to hold faded black and white photographs between my fingers. Photographs that contain memories that do not belong to me, but for one brief suspended moment of time I can claim them for my own and breathe my own words into the lives of people who have grown up and left their old selves behind.