“Jhst Thinking...how Nothing Last.”

I can't rest. I can't reach that level of calmness... I'm like always on edge. Okay? And? More cheese with that wine? That's a bad pun and a line from a 90s movie. Great, I can't rest and I'm having “Guess that movie quotes!” with myself... great. GREAT.

𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆. 𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒆. 𝑾𝑨𝒀, 𝑾𝑨𝒀, 𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆...𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏, 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.

—Solo—

VI

Angelina's body was pummeled by a tremendous surge of in and out surroundings. It wasn't always like this, and she didn't expect it to stay that way. Angelina had returned to work mode after celebrating her birthday with an outpouring of love from people she held dear to her heart. Not only was she working, but she also had that itch, that niche—almost a need for something more. Perhaps it was the return of her Mother that spurred her on to more self-discovery. Angelina may have been pushed further than she ever dreamed she could go by her new lease on love and life.

Angie's first film, Original Sin, was the first of many. Despite the fact that filming had not yet begun, she was ecstatic. The writing spoke to her, almost in ways that represented everything she disliked about a character as well as everything she might adore. She was out today. A walk through nature by herself, to cleanse her head of the congestion. In no sense of sickness— but to cleanse any self-inflicted doubts.

No doubt, everything, life, and times had changed. Angelina was satisfied at the moment. She walked on the trail, pressing her feet into the crooked gravel. That she was in love seemed surreal. She had no idea that love would suddenly descend upon her like a sack of bricks. As she did with many other things, she received it with faith and understanding. The trail led to the area of the woods that was the deepest and darkest. The actress knelt down and searched her bag for her camera. Maybe, just maybe, she'd really grow interested in photography and perhaps start directing films.

Angelina had several opportunities as a result of her acting career. That's something, she never took for granted. She thought that travel, amnesty, and philanthropic events were all extraordinarily wonderful. But, she had every desire to be more, though. Do more. The smallest part of her life was and is Hollywood. Glamorous dresses, makeup, and parties barely scratched the surface of who Angelina was in reality. Her brother James, made the proposal that she write an op-ed piece to TIME magazine. Angelina initially believed he was yanking her chain. He wasn't, though. When Antonio Banderas and the cast of Original Sin first met, they spent the most of their conversation discussing global issues.

As Angelina silently approached a bird's nest, the camera's shutter flickered repeatedly. Angelina had opinions on everything, including societal issues, literary works, and historical events. Why not? Why not have courage and contribute to TIME magazine? However, Angelina knew she would get harsh criticism. As she had always been subjected to. She smiled as she recalled the gasping outrage caused by her numerous tattoos. She would ruminate on the idea of writing something, much as she had done with her own collection of poetry. She found it strange that something she had always done in her free time or with her mother could now be bought by others. Angelina hiked the remaining distance in silence after one more shutter click.

In time with the foggy breeze, her chest rose and sank. The raw scents of nature entered her lungs. The path grew narrower as it led to her final goal; hanging plants and flowers adorned the route. A prosperous and magnificent river was created from the still water. Nature was hushed. However, it matched the constant cacophony of sounds that thrilled Angelina's head and emotions. Her eyes were squinted into the distant as she clenched the camera in her palm. It was amazing. Her arms had scratches and scuffs from prickly bushes, her hair was clinging to the back of her neck, and her boots were covered in dirt and gravel. Never before had she felt more lovely, alive, and open to new experiences than she did now.

With her camera, Angelina captured the water, the flowers, and the little insects. She located a spot a downed tree limb. She had placed her journal on her lap while sitting with her legs outstretched and her back resting against the wood. Naturally, there were scribbles and indents on every page from previous works. Many of them were sappy odes to her love. High-pitched, almost sickeningly girlie declarations of love were also something Angelina enjoyed. To have complete freedom. She wouldn't limit her feelings, not even in her own mind. Her attention was now on the present situation. She wrote while slightly leaned over and focused on putting all she was feeling into words.

Frequently on shoots, there would be after-party festivities, and just like now, Angelina discovered herself mumbling ideas, to herself. As she continued to write, she would exhale, bite the corner of her lip, and nod to herself. Her inspirations came and went, ebbing and flowing with each penstroke. The woman breathed a ragged laugh when she reached the final line on the page. Above her, in the clouds, she could hear the approaching thunder. She looked up at the somewhat cloudy sky with its touches of blue and sunshine. She grinned because it appeared as though the sky represented two halves of something. Could it be that Angelina was also inspired by that? Yeah, maybe she was.

To check the time, she flipped her wrist and glanced at her watch. She would have to return. Even while Angelina was positive she would return to this route, she also knew she wouldn't. That was the allure of hiking—observing nature and locating trails. Each one stood for a specific moment and emotion. The freedom came from finding it. There were other freedoms and paths to explore that might be found. She took a few more photos, being careful to catch the most charming and tranquil effect of the sun shining on the peak of the river.

As strange as it may sound, transferring poems from one place to another is like moving a nearly complete home to an overly cluttered lot. Then again, my poetry is overly cluttered, and clunky, hackneyed and stilted have been called.

“She lived in her imagination and dreams. She liked only what was most elegant, and if she couldn’t have the best she would do without the second best, because second best meant nothing to her.”

— Theodor Fontane, Effi Briest (1895)

Every day is unique. Nothing will ever be the same again. Even the similarities will never be identical. Both tragedies and joys will never fall on the same plain again. And why are we so adamant about refusing something we've written and are familiar with?

When we had a very lovely day. When something excites us. When the day welcomes us with its silkiness and softness. We grow fixated on the idea that each day will be identical to the previous one. All of the fortune cookie wisdom vanishes.

As a result, each day is unique. Why is it so difficult for us to live each day in this manner?

Where do you start when you feel despondent? not the feeling about being alone. However, the only factor. nowhere to fit. being nothing in a world that is something.

When your voice falters, your heart beats in trembling clef rhythms; but, when you do feel stronger, why does it fade?

No depression. No isolation. a feeling of separation on the inside. How can you fight that sensation? There are no materials. no substances

My words are failing, and the pen is on the page. I'm eagerly awaiting the boomerang-like return of my hopes.

Where do I go now that I feel so alone?

Here. I came here. It was noted down.

From: Angie💋

To: Your self right now. It'll all be okay. 🖤

—𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐞.

Day 1: I'm amazed at the beauty of it. Culture seems to be a living thing. To exist here, right now. Am I... on the line?

Day 2: He is the muse I find in perfect harmony. How can a man be as captivating as himself? He will never grow tired of photography.

Day 3: For my part, I intend to see what has never been seen before. I hope my life continues on this path. So I write this. A hymn? Perhaps.

𝑇𝐵𝐶~