to be so lonely • hs

seventeen

I struck the match against the striker and watched as the small stick lit up in flame, starting out quite small and growing as it traveled down the length of the stick. I watched it for just a few seconds, before tilting it and lighting the candle wick.

The subtle aroma of sandalwood rose emerged from the burning of the wax inside of the golden-brown jar, the soft and warm light from the flame bouncing shadows across the ceiling.

Tonight, I had a lot of feelings, and was having a bit of trouble dealing with them all. I was in the midst of a creative block and didn't know how to get out of it, though I desperately needed to— I had a few shoots lined up throughout the week, and I'd need to start building another line to submit for our next coming gallery.

On top of the work-related stress, Mason and I were reaching a point where we'd soon need to decide if we were going to pursue a relationship. We'd been going on dates for about two or three months, and by now I figured I'd know, but I just didn't.

I thought he was really lovely, and I didn't have any complaints. We got along well and he was never not a total gentleman, but still, I wasn't sure.

Which, somehow, ended with me deliberately avoiding any suggestions to get together during the week. I blamed it on being busy, which I was, but I knew it wasn't the real reason. I guess I just needed more time to think on it.

I reached for my coffee mug, pleased with the warm touch of my still hot drink, and took a sip. I held the mug in one hand and logged onto my laptop with the other.

Finding things that inspired me typically came from a number of different sources. Sometimes I'd see a clothing piece I really liked, and envisioned an entire photo series based around it. Other times it was a simple color, or a word. It could also be a bit more complex, like a particular building, a song lyric, or just a specific concept. Lately, I felt quite burnt out. After doing photography for so many years, it was a problem I often ran into.

I spent the next half hour scrolling through old images of mine, wondering if there were any I could possibly gain some inspiration from. Then I moved over to sort through images I'd taken that don't include a model, scouting out an interesting location I might be able to use.

My searches went on for about an hour and a half, until the low sound of The Smiths playing through my phone speaker came to a sudden halt. The screen lit up and began ringing, pulling me out from the search down a path I was going nowhere on.

"Hello?" I answered, checking the time on my laptop. 11:51pm.

"Did I wake you?" Harry asked.

"Nope— I won't be asleep for hours." I answered, sighing as I scrolled through another file. "Are you okay?"

"I'm well, yeah." He paused, "Are you busy?"

"Yes, and no."

"Should I call tomorrow?" He was confused, clearly, and I didn't blame him. It was safe to say my mind was working through about 80 different situations, and I didn't entirely make sense.

"No, no, you're fine. I'm not busy enough that I can't talk, I mean." I explained.

"Okay." I heard a bit of shuffling around on his end, and I furrowed my eyebrows. "I've got good news."

"Do you?" I smiled, pushing my laptop a bit further down my stomach as I adjusted my slouch, pressing my back against my headboard. "What is it?"

"I started writing a song today." I could hear the smile in his voice when he said it, and the little bit of happy laughter that followed.