there's a world out there.

There's a world out there, she said. There were crinkles in her eyes as she did: like indentations on a map scorned over years of travel; thumb prints that marred the surface in gentle caresses. She tapped on  the window like it wasn't there. Like if she pushed hard enough she would fall. No, not fall. Infinity would catch her. Her eyes were the perfect echo of adventure. And when I searched for long enough, I could forget the shadows. They'd just melt away. 

I keep a globe on the window sill. I change it every year because adventure isn't stationary. It doesn't just still, it evolves, it dances. The same way I know that she's still dancing. This world was too silent for her. She wasn't too loud. 

There's a world out there, I whisper and my words float in the wind. 

- Mum // by paintingtheocean 2016

Hello, the sun is shining, the clouds are out and I'm actually writing a blog post. I wanted to take this little website back to its roots - writing. I formed Painting The Ocean as a creative outlet; a place where I could write and project my thoughts in a simplistic yet aesthetic way. This blog has always been the source of anything I've ever done on the internet and, truthfully, I miss it. It feels neglected... like its lost some of the magic it brought me and (hopefully) you too!

As you know, creative writing is my favourite hobby. I try to indulge in it as frequently as possible although recently it seems other things (Youtube, tumblr, Netflix etc) have taken its place. And that's not cool. So, hello, and enjoy this little something which dripped off my fingers quite literally two minutes ago. Like always, this is inspired by a picture I found on tumblr.

Let me know what other blog posts you'd like to see :)
-J

youtube // Jessie Maisie

instagram // oceanpainter_

tumblr// oceanpainter.tumblr.com

empty pages // short story

"It's okay, to let go. It's like throwing away the pages of a really good book".

I stared at him.

"How?"

I was always wondered what it would be like to loose someone. Wondered, yet never wished. Would the pain be sharp like a needle or a dull ache that never goes away? Emptiness drained by tears? Yet I felt nothing. I didn't cry or mourn or laugh at memories or scream or curl away. I went to the funeral and sat at the front turning the whimpers in to an orchestra in my brain. 

I figured I was evil: unable to feel human pain or understand compassion. Robotic even, programmed to ignore. I had a diary, a laptop, a therapist. Pointless. I did my exams and got good grades, I went on holiday and sunbathed and smiled and laughed. Then I came back.

He looked just like Him when he approached me. Same eyes and nose and warmth, but not Him. All at once the pain came crashing down, compressing me, drowning me. I clutched the desk and let my books fall as the tears unified in anger down my cheeks. 

"It's okay", he said standing close but not too close.

I allowed the tears to fall on my top and dampen my neck. 

"It's okay, to let go. It's like throwing away the pages of a really good book."

I stared at him.

"How?"

"You can't keep a book forever. You have the memories and the enjoyment, yet one day, someday you'll have to throw the pages away. The pages contain the memories but do not trap them. The words lift of the page, so really all you're throwing away is an empty shell. And that's okay. "


This photo was just to thought provoking to not write a story about it. Admittedly, this story is kind of  sad. Although,at the same time, kind of happy. Take what you wish from this ten minute musing but remember this, we all write our own books. And sometimes it is okay to throw away the chapters.

Thank you for reading :)

-J

this photo was taken from my tumblr 

my favourite book// short story

Her book is open on page seventy-seven. I watched her as she turned the page. I watched her as she lifted off the seat and placed a scarf over her purse. I watched her as she walked past me to collect her drink. I walked over, myself, and read the title at the top of the page. It was slightly crusted with coffee stains, as if she brushed her fingers over it constantly. The bottom left corner was folded over, saving her place for when she returned.

My red pen is angled at the curve of her back. It is as though every inch of my being is gravitating towards her tumbling blonde hair. The kids' homework lies next to me, untouched, even though tomorrow will be met with a tirade of emails from parents. Private school is not at all private. I can't stop thinking about that book. The book that lies on my next-door pillow, that sits on the bathroom floor whilst I brush my teeth, is in my hand whilst I ignore the musings of the teaching staff. My favourite book.

So inevitably, as she drains her coffee and turns the page and smiles at the old guy coughing and laughs at her phone and writes in her notebook and gazes out the window and crosses and un-crosses her legs, she is my favourite person.

Hello! There you go. Another story that pretty much drained off my finger tips as I typed. I have decided to write stories based on a picture, whether that be from Tumblr or from a picture you guys can email me. Writing is my favourite thing in the world. I love to express myself and although my stories aren't always grammatically correct (which I often do on purpose to add character), I do very much they are enjoyable to read.

Happy October,

-J

Short Story// A different fairytale

I took this picture a while back and instantly fell in love. The sheer concept that my little camera can capture something so dark and brooding and portray these emotions through a single snapshot never ceases to amaze me. Okay, maybe I did enhance the picture a little.

Today I have another short story for you. As I type this I have no idea what this story is going to be about, the characters or anything so I will just stare out my window for a few minutes and think.

She aches to be a Disney princess. All long hair that tangles around the perfect tiny waist and large hips. A voice that can lift birds of their feet or draw a prince in for a lingering kiss. To be so effortlessly beautiful that a man can fall in love at first glance. So pure that any hint of evil diminishes in her power. She wants a name that melts on the tongue, friends that stand by her in the most harrowing of times. She wants a musical. A happy ending. And she will get an ending. But it may not be happy.

I watch her now. Eyes closed dreaming. She doesn't know but to me she is everything as perfect as Cinderella or Belle or Ariel. More perfect. Because she is fighting. The evil that eats away at her lungs cannot be destroyed by true loves kiss. Yet all though it tries, it can never rip apart her heart. Tear the last thread of love that prevents her from slipping in to oblivion. Both of us. Together fighting for every day knowing that one moment we could be people and the next angels.

My bed is near hers. If I muster up enough breath I can reach her hand with my finger tips. Soft and shivering in the dull air. I don't wait for the orchestra, the birds or the wreath of love hearts. I squeeze her fingers and her eyes open. I tell her, with my own smile, how beautiful she is, how perfect and how she is my brave brave princess. 

Even if it isn't Disney, it's still a fairytale. Just a different kind.

Thanks for reading,
-J