Indie Romance

I’ve recently been realizing more and more just how deeply I desire to be “indie romantic”.  I drool over blog after blog, whether it be about homemade lanterns (Agnes loves lanterns), poetry, acoustic music, weird looking shoes, or making your own cleaning supplies…and for what?  Well, I find some really neat things, very romantic.  Not romantic like gondolas and sharing a spaghetti noodle (which, to be quite honest, I’ve never thought was romantic…not even a little bit), but romantic like summer dusk and fireflies, or loose floral dresses and hair sticking to your forehead and neck, damp with sweat…or big sweaters and french movies.  That’s what I like.  That kind of romance.  I think it’s easy to get caught up in it, especially at this point in my life, when nothing’s for sure, things are all sort of crammed into this dreamy haze, fleeting but lingering on.  I know some of you reading this know exactly what I’m talking about.

Here are a few things that I believe hurl me even deeper into the black hole of indie romanticism:

1. The hours between 7-9:30 p.m.
In summer, at least, dusk is prime time for that bubbly, drifting, almost homesick feeling, for me, that is.  I think it’s positioning of the sun.  The shadows are all cast long, sun rays are coming through leaves in the trees, you’re done working, things are quiet…if you were being filmed and you were predisposed to being indie-romantic and adorable and free, it would be sometime between 7 and 9:30 when you would take off barefoot running through the yard, or a field of tall grass, with some flowers (but not filled with flowers, that’s too cliché), and your audience’s stomach would be tied in dreamy knots and their eyes would be dewy and filled with light, breezy love.  Don’t lie to yourself, you know exactly what I mean.

2. Softly Epic Music
Eluvium Radio on Pandora.  You feel like you’re in a movie. Also effective: and

3. Gritty Black and White Photography


4.  Letters
I’m talking real, in the mailbox with a stamp, sealed with spit and written by hand letters.  What a beautiful, forgotten thing.  A very nice, very handsome young man in my life writes me letters, and every time I receive one, I feel like a million dollars.  A lot of my friends have been away doing cool things/being at home this summer, and writing them letters has been so nice.  Even if there isn’t a lot to say, it feels good to write words on paper and send those words to another human, who will receive the words you smashed together into sentences that may never be written or read again, unless your name is C.S. Lewis, in which case, every word you ever spoke, wrote or even thought will be written down and memorized by christians and romantics and really cool people all over the world forever.
5.  Quasi-Hipster Attire
Lipstick, hairbands around your forehead, light-wash, cut-off jorts, bare feet, thick-rimmed glasses, always wearing pants that expose your ankles, always.
6.  Etc.
Bicycles, leather satchels, christmas lights, mandolins & banjos, wine, window boxes, messy hair, film cameras, sitting on rooftops, blankets on the ground, City and Colour, craft blogs/wedding blogs/all blogs, tree houses and forts,Wes Anderson films, independent coffee shops, sidewalk cafes, thrift stores, Polaroids, TOMS, imported tea, fair trade, burlap, empty streets at nighttime, birds, books, doodling, baking, creeks, climbing rocks, colorful socks & poems.
And there you have it, people.  The keys to my indie-romantic heart, beating away, rhythmically, of course, but not in the same rhythm as anyone else, because indie people are special and unique and solemn.
Dream on, lovers and friends, it’s summer time.