Post by harlowenochovic on Nov 17, 2009 2:00:26 GMT -5
SOMETIMES I FIND IT HARD
• to believe there's someone else who could be •
JUST AS MESSED UP AS ME
A beautiful autumn day. Autumn had always been one of Harlowe's favorite seasons. Possibly because of Thanksgiving, Halloween or the beautiful colors of the leaves falling from the trees. It was always an exquisite picture for her to paint, and the cloudy sky with the contrast of vibrant oranges, reds and yellows never failed her. That's why she is outside, currently sketching on a 19" x 12" sketch pad with a very light pencil. Hopefully, she would be able to use this sketch as an inspiration for a watercolor painting later resulting in an exceeding mark in art. The teacher had always thought of her as a very gifted painter and drawer, as was expressed. Harlowe thought herself as one too; her confidence in herself increasing with each day as she learned rapidly about painting strokes and shading techniques. Painting wasn't her only talent; writing and poetry also came naturally, but not as dominant as art.
Sitting on a bench in the lovely Yale courtyard, her blonde hair hung down in loose ringlets around her face. Her head would rise up, a beautiful face studying the scene around her, observing quickly and returning back to the picture forming on her sketch pad. Up and down, up and down. Her hand moving frantically to capture the picture. Her concentration was so great, that she didn't notice the people around her. Or the chill of the wind. Or the young woman who sat down beside her to read a book. As she sketched, a tune played in her head softly. The one that had been stuck in her head all day long, Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. It was one of her favorites, it's lovely delicate tune inspired her beyond words, more than other classical songs did. When the song ended in her head, for probably the forty-sixth time, she let her hand rest and closed the cover on her sketch. She never looked at her finished sketches, because she knew she would try to perfect them. But then it wouldn't count as a rough sketch.
As if she had just awoken from a deep sleep, she looked around and swallowed reality around her. She had never realized how cold her hands were. She pulled her gloves back on and put her sketch pad and pencil back in her bag. To be honest, she felt a bit like a loser sitting here by herself, trying to pass time. She didn't know anyone around here, only a few people. But they weren't that close or anything, so she felt uncomfortable asking them to hang out. Her pride wouldn't allow her to get shut down, so asking was out of the question. It had been so different in New York; everyone had known her and she had had so many friends and family to talk to. Now, being friendless and alone at Yale, she realized that the solitude she had been craving back in New York was actually quite lonely and depriving. Her social life had plummeted six feet under the day she arrived in New Haven and kept sinking inch by inch. Harlowe sighed deeply, these thoughts running through her head. She wouldn't let herself feel down about this. One thing she knew as that this was a chance to meet new people, learn something new and party her ass off. Her confidence made her smile, including the thought of going to the bar. That's what she would do later, go to the bar and find some hot hunk to flirt with there. With thoughts of drunken opportunities in her mind, she reopened her bag to pull out a book, opening it to a dog-eared page and absorbing herself in the fascinating writing of Vladimir Nabokov.
TAGGED ! open!!
WORDS ! five hundred and seventy
OUTFIT ! CLICK
LYRICS ! sometimes by skillet
TEMPLATE ! PANIC! ITS LAUZ @ CAUTION
NOTES ! blah blah