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Hi, this is my blog for arty things and the like.

I'm Ambereen, 17, and from England *waves*
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one of my favourite pastimes is to irritate my brother into letting me takeg a picture of him, or take them without him realising

Did this digitally using my Bamboo tablet and Photoshop Elements
It’s part of the montage used in this

Did this digitally using my Bamboo tablet and Photoshop Elements

It’s part of the montage used in this


The stars aren’t so far
And could be plucked from the Sky
If You dreamt it.

The sea is rough
At its most beautiful
As You imagined it

The incompleted words
The writer finishes
because You wished it.

The bricks of clay
Become our home
Because We want it.

I’ve spent the last ten minutes deciding whether or not to put this up because I don’t write poems, and this is one I’ve wrote and so it’s scary

tagged as

All we have to do is see the person we want to be, and have enough courage to become them. The reason so many of us can’t be those people is because fear is holding us back. In every aspect of our lives, we hide part of ourselves, so that we can be accepted and so we can keep the peace. Because if we don’t - and we aren’t accepted - the person we are isn’t good enough. If we aren’t then we might end up alone, and that fear is stronger than any other. The only question is whether or not we can overcome our fears. 

Another bit of my abandoned story I liked


Memories don’t seem to work the same way for me as they do for everyone else. When people try to remember something, they change parts, they don’t see all the details, the image becomes blurred. We, as people, are simply a mass of memories and the idea that memories can be changed or forgotten is something that has always troubled me. If we forget who we were, how can we know who we are, and who not to become? When I remember, I feel as I’m just stepping back to the time when the memory happened. I think of the memory and become the memory again, I live the emotions I felt, I hear the sound, smell the scents, see the images as I did then, in perfect clarity. If my memories faded, so would I.

This was part of a story I was writing last year, which I’ve given up on due the lack of decent plot, but I liked this bit.