sj st. james (@bettercallsol) • Instagram photos and videos

octavyia

sj st. james i write songs. i bang on pianos. my dog is @bizmarquis. official music page: @solstjames

1,834 posts

11.2k followers

89 following

October 31, 2016 Happy Halloween, my dragons 454 32	October 29, 2016 178 13	October 28, 2016 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCN7q70W09c 222 3
October 28, 2016 @theavettbrothers 344 45	October 27, 2016 what you don't see is that i have a cup of apple cider in each hand and three plaid shirts on 100 10	October 26, 2016 stay tuned local disney prince makes friends at 7 @bettercallsol 334 98
October 26, 2016 someone doesn't wanna get up for the drive 97 12	October 20, 2016 455 8	October 15, 2016 getting a head start on my packing check out a blog update on @redalpha 564 45
October 13, 2016 @tiltedtulip the start of something beautiful 107 37	October 9, 2016 #tbt to that time we only looked at like 2 houses until we found the one 112 19	October 5, 2016 the beginning of pie season tbh 198 17
October 4, 2016 EVERYBODY SCREAM 98 21	October 2, 2016 my last goodbye to spring 116 33	October 1, 2016 #sweatherweather 489 119

October 28 he reminds you of the woods in your backyard. he reminds you of heaviness- the heavy smell of campfires, the heavy twang of a guitar, the heavy weight of his eyes on you, the heavy heat between your legs, the heavy words in his mouth. you wrap yourself in his heaviness and make it a part of your unreliable heartbeat. he grounds you to the earth and you think of roots and things beneath the dirt. you think of reds and browns and that rich dark green that reminds you of the fickle word 'home'. you think of gold, even if slightly tarnished. you think of brass and pluck and that caramel sound from the middle of his chest. he's safe and sturdy and yet when you peel back the bark of the wood, you find soft and human and meaty and more. so much more. you fill his cracks and crevices with sugar and company and leave his bruises untouched because these parts, you like those too. you tend to them and you accept them and you never forget they're there. you like his weaknesses and his broken edges not because it gives you an advantage, but because your weaknesses fit together like the beginnings and the ends of a weathered sentence. you taste paris mornings and electric nights. nights you can't remember to breath or think or speak because he's touching you. you count each mark he leaves behind, your skin a useless map because it only leads you forward (there's no going backwards). you taste familiarity and comfort and it's a foreign feeling on the tip of your tongue. you think of gardens, of digging holes deep enough your doubts can't reach. you watch it blossom in to too many colors, ones you've never seen before and you struggle to find the names. you struggle. without labels, without confidence, you sometimes fear the worst. you're afraid for what's grown beyond your own control, of outside forces, but it's a fear that has accepted itself for what it is. you can only swallow it down with your morning cup of coffee and think to yourself what will we do next? they, we, us. friendship, fears futures and other words that start with f. tell me, baby, what comes next?

asheville playlist • october

001	Panic! At the Disco	When the Day met the Night	youtube
002	Amber Run	I Found	youtube
003	Avett Brothers	May It Last	youtube
004	Inner Oceans	I Don't Mind	youtube
005	The Black Keys	The Lengths	youtube
006	The Echo Friendly	Fuck it and Whatever	youtube
007	Local Natives	Jellyfish	youtube
008	Mumford and Sons	Hopeless Wanderer	youtube
009	Kings of Leon	Find Me	youtube
010	The Lumineers	The Dead Sea	youtube

August 12/13th It took her three months to lose a nights sleep. Three months before she scanned text with a wrinkled brow and warm blood. Fuck off- Her eyes jump from word to word, skipping sections and picking out portions that cause her to focus. --More fucking reverence than a hookup fwb-- She doesn't know how the conversation got here or how to reel this backwards. Are you taking other anger and frustration out on me right now? She reads it over again, shakes her head, runs her heels over her eyelids. She spends the rest of the nightlight packed into the corner of her bed wondering what's expected of her, wondering what her role truly is, wondering if she's emotionally stunted enough to handle what the answer is.

She gets raven black smears on her sheets, on her elbow, between her fingers, on her cheek. She layers them together and brings them to life. The next day she layers concealer on beneath her eyes with the same hands. She looks at herself in the bathroom mirror and puts her chin up. Her dad always told her to stand up straight, so she does.

When the night returns she lays back against his chest, hands over hands as his pick tight strings. He doesn't mention it in his quietness and she watches his fingers move her fingers. The tension from a near ruined weekend is strummed from her body until they're both in bed, knees parting to tequila sunrise.

8 pm The little girls shoes dangle above the floor, dirty and untied. She watches her between filling out forms, notices the way she sniffles and rubs at her nose, the way her eyes stay focused on the floor, the holes in her over-sized t-shirt that was a hand-me-down at best. It takes her another ten minutes to slip the folder shut and drop it off at the front desk, marking her name down on a sign out sheet. The little girl doesn't bother to look up when she approaches a moment later.

"Hey," she lowers, bends her knees, meets her at eye level and smiles. "Are you okay?"

"I want my daddy," the small voice shakes with those same sniffles and Rockie purses her lips, searching for her eyes beneath a veil of hair in desperate need of a brush. It takes a pause for thought before she reaches out, gently taking the little girls shoe and giving it a slight shake. It's enough for the girl to glance up at her, and that's enough for Rockie to crack another slight smile.

"You see him?" She looks over her shoulder, directing their eyes to a man in uniform moving chairs. "That's Ethan, he has a little boy about your age. He plays t-ball and Ethan coaches on the weekend. Or him," her eyes shift again, directing them another way. "That's Frank, with the big belly. He makes the breakfast at his Lodge once a month. He makes really great pancakes. His daughter just had him a grand-baby. Or him, in that room there," Still holding lightly to the girls shoe, she gestures towards a back office with a large front window. "That's my dad. He loves dogs but he always says he's too busy to have one. I think it makes him sad."

When she looks back at the little girl her head is raised enough to see her eyes. They're green. She's paying attention.

"I can't go get your dad right now, but there are lots of great daddy's here and they won't let anything bad happen." Rockie can see that she's thinking about it, her eyes move back to the floor and shift before she looks back up. "That's your daddy?" Rockie nods, "Yeah. Do you like to color?" Her little features hesitate and Rockie turns, moving the bag off her hip and pulling out a coloring book along with a pack of bright pencils. "You can take them with you, I have all kinds." She places them on the girls lap, adding a little bag of fruit gummies. She smiles again, gives the girls shoe another gentle shake, and stands. Just before she turns away she hears the girl speak, "Thanks Miss."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."