Paper Plane Skies in 3D Glasses

Hola, I'm Nanie. You can try finding me in random nooks and crannies --between sand and sea, amongst the crowd, lost in music, reveling in a joke, ensnared by words, dreaming up a story, eyes caught in the stars, head up in the clouds. Or maybe, just maybe, you will find me right by my name, just as it escapes your lips.

[clandestina]

I’ve lost count of the hours I’ve spent poring over the concept of ‘time,’ a steady stream

of seconds flowing forward from the past, a truth that is not yours nor mine.

No; our time moves like two hands of a clock, giving chase and meeting only to part.

It crawls slow in between conversations and runs fast between words— In a minute, we’re scaling rapids, back in a riptide of emotions, In another, an ocean of hours and silence between our shores.

But maybe the fault isn’t yours but mine, for disturbing the water that asks to remain still,

and thinking this time, the timing will be right— a truth that is never ours.

[clandestina]

I miss all the secrets your lips would whisper to mine; if I could chart all the words your tongue spoke to me, I swear I could sing an entire symphony.

[clandestina]

Got heartbroken. Wrote poems. Became blessed with the opportunity to collaborate with an insanely brilliant artist and friend, Brent Sabas. Got baby published as an insert in Team Mag's 7th issue.

[clandestina]

Too soon?

[clandestina]

Happy Friday, all.

[clandestina]

And perhaps the cruelest act of all

is forcing me to remember what I try hardest to forget.

[clandestina]

She walked with a knife sticking out of her back, while its tip remained a quarter of an inch from her heart.

She lived her life like this, wondering if she would ever meet a kind stranger, compassionate enough to pull out the knife, or perhaps a friend, brave enough to twist it in and finish the job.

[clandestina]

"Have you ever known loneliness?" she asked no one in particular.

The wind whistled, brushed against the back of her neck, made the hair on her skin stand--and then left her, just as she was before it came.

[clandestina]

How about the day I won a free pair of DMs thanks to a combo skill set in writing and bullshittery—and, apparently, lost all grasp on the aforementioned communication methods to sheer excitement.

Like, OMG!

(I regret nothing. Regret is for the weak. I am not weak. Penises are weak.)

[clandestina]

As the saying goes, we all want what we can't have.

Wrong. What we want are things, people, or situations we THINK we can't have, but somehow feel otherwise. In a world where only death and taxes are absolute, we tend to subconsciously hold on to probabilities, no matter how small, and we stubbornly fixate on them for as long as we can. Because at the end of the day, it's not about the 99.9% painful impossibility staring at us in the face--but the 0.1% blinding glimmer of hope that we will, in fact, get what we statistically cannot have and yet, 100% want.

[clandestina]

34. What doesn't kill you

should try harder.

[clandestina]

Places where one might feel alone:

In the driver's seat of the fastest car, speeding on the highway. At the end of a joke whose punchline you missed. In between a pair of headphones with music on full blast. Underneath the stars, hours before the break of day. Anywhere after the last word, uttered with finality. In the arms of love that is no longer requited.

[clandestina]

The Beauty of Destruction is this.

When everything falls apart, and all you're left with are tiny, tiny pieces that no longer seem to fit the mold that once held them tightly in place—

you can finally start again.

[clandestina]

Oh, the fluidity of emotion, trickling down your cheek and into the cracks on the pavement.

(Perhaps trees were born out of sadness, too.)

[clandestina]

Words

They say you start processing words at the age of 10 months; and by 18 months, up until 2 years of age, you've finally managed to learn how to say them.

By 3 or 4, you've started writing those words, and somewhere between then and now, you've learned that this proves useful for times when you just can't seem to swallow your thoughts, but are too scared to say them out loud.

The years after that are spent experiencing whatever life has handed to you, thrown at you, slapped at you, or simply surprised you with. And without realizing it, at some point in your life, you've somehow learned how to shut out the thoughts altogether, while finding better, less painful truths to live with.

You will keep talking, now trying to fill a void you yourself have grown. You will keep doing this until, because there is no real purpose left to drive the words out of you, you have nothing left to say.

At this point, you will start to listen. Other people's words will soothe you, because they will remind you of a time when things actually meant something. The emotion will be refreshing.

Take heed: not everything they say will make sense. Sometimes, the absurdity, the stupidity, and the inanity will get to you, but it’s okay. It just means that you’ve finally begun to relearn how to process words. And then, when you’re ready, you’ll find yourself speaking up once more.

[clandestina]

At the end of the day

I just wanted you to fucking fight harder.

[clandestina]

A great afternoon is an afternoon spent with a really handsome man, methinks.