Thursday, December 30, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Sometimes she forgets the feeling of sweaty, nervous palms. And fingers laced together, hidden underneath the safe haven of a blanket. She forgets the intoxication of a passionate kiss. And the warmth of an arm resting on her own. Sometimes she forgets the intricate entwining of legs, effervescing that strong sense of comfort. She forgets deep stares and the heat rising to her face, flushing her cheekbones with brilliant color. Sometimes she forgets the sweet scent left on her pillow. And the smile raging war against her lips when she thinks about it all.
But, she does remember one thing. It starts with the quickening of her heartbeat.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
And sometimes, on a drunken ride home, your friends say things you won't forget. And not coincidentally at all, they're the same things you think to yourself when you're alone.
And sometimes it's sad that it's the truth. And sometimes you're glad as hell that life has tied the dear ones together.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
What makes a woman not love a man who loves her? Baby girl, you see the world in black and white and your heart has always made your decisions for you. Happy as a clam, I can see the glimmer in your eyes. You're doing just fine.
You've already found home, my yellow bird.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
She walked home, balancing on the curb as usual. Comforted by the peacefulness of her own thoughts, she barely noticed the interested glances she was receiving due to the paint smeared all over her legs and arms and hair. As she jumped off the curb and onto the street, the hood of her jacket fell down. And she came to the conclusion that people push you to see how far you can go.
What a grand idea.
Monday, September 27, 2010
And sometimes you need an Alice in Wonderland dream to let you know life is beautiful. And sometimes you don't. Because you already know.
Splashing in puddles is what rain is for.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
For someone who believes so deeply in the idea of love, it's odd to think she's putting the unfinished fairy tale back on the shelf with a smile.
Soulmates and kindred spirits. They're one in the same. But you won't find him here, doll.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sometimes, you run out back in your bare feet, toes gliding through the sun-soaked grass, and you find what you were looking for. You forgot it was even missing.
Nobody else knows her quite as well.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Do You Remember What Mama Says? Rejection And Happiness Can Be One In The Same If You Know What I Know
It was one of those chilly, fall nights where everything was in place and you could just smile. She was sitting on the porch, thinking. The splash of the fountain, out on the pond, calmly resonating in her ears. And the stars were just as bright as they were years ago. Can you remember that scene on the hill? A breath of omniscience whispered past a few strands of her hair, fresh with the scent of perfume from the night before. With her head wrapped around this newfound revelation, she was so beautifully content. Wait it out, baby girl. No one ever sees what you see right away.
Take heart, sweetheart. You have the patience for this.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
She sat on the porch, soaking up the sunlight. It was a beautiful day. Isn't it always nowadays? She breathed the thick, warm air into her lungs and kicked her blackened bare feet up on the railing. Hands behind her head, tilting the chair back to a balanced perfection, she smiled. Life is beautiful. Friends for miles. Not even superficial friends. But, good-hearted, loving, selfless friends. Bare feet with the kind of bright red nail polish that made you know you were never so happy in your whole life. Yellow birds calling the nearest trees their home. A previously unmarked passion for art. A newfound independence, a newfound honesty and a newfound realization.
Mama was right about falling in love.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I did not know the compassion capable of hiding behind such pretty eyes.
I did not know the warmth hidden behind such a beautiful smile.
I did not know the sincerity lacing every delicate grasp of the hand.
I did not know the trust emanating from every whispered secret into your ear.
I did not know the delicacy of a heart pierced by slight wrongdoings.
I did not know the friendship burrowing under the cover of a tight, unending hug.
I did not know the care weaved in between lips locked in a passionate kiss.
I did not know the meaning of love entrapped in each simple glance.
She sat there. Believing in true love. Smiling ear to ear and laughing at the ease of such a concept that had been hidden right under her nose all along. Oh, to be twenty two and invincible [forever]. Knowing everything leading up to this was as insignificant as a grain of sand in the desert. Love is known to fool and blindside. But, true love...true love...is something you have never experienced or felt or touched or tasted or glimpsed. It is the epitome of fairy tale, the rhythm of a heartbeat and the meaning of a smile.
'I could die right now, she thought. I'm just...happy. I've never felt that before.'
Monday, May 17, 2010
It was one of those summer days where you could close your eyes and feel the West on the tip of your tongue through the tangibility of the dry heat. She was walking through the cornfield, barefoot and in her paisley, cotton dress. With each step, she could feel a new scratch being laid into her smooth, bronzed calves. She smiled to herself, remembering those games they used to play. Ah...to be a child. Luckily, she had never felt as if her heart had grown older with her. It had fortunately stayed young and innocent, like a breeze through the open window, creating a quiet chaos amongst the sheer summer curtains. Although she could only ever remember walking this particular path alone, she acknowledged the familiar presence trailing behind her. 'Do you know the difference, baby girl?' She turned around and smiled. Of course, she knew the difference. She had come to a crux, where the cornfield met with an inviting field of white flowers. She stepped over the last cornstalk, into the lush field and sat down. Picking up a flower she thought about what he had asked her. She looked at the flower that was twirling in her hand. She couldn't stop smiling. It was simple. If she had never picked the first flower, how would she have ever learned how to take care of the next flower? She would have never known what the flower needed: how much light, how much water, how much space, how gentle of a touch. The first flower is for learning, while the second is for growing. As time slowly ticked by in the heat of the day, she looked down at the flower in her hand. It had already begun withering. He saw her frowning and reached in his back pocket. From his well-worn blue jeans, he pulled out a tiny black book, handing it to her. With the dwindling flower in one hand, she flipped through the book with the other. There was no writing, but almost every page was filled with dried flowers. Beautifully colored, and preserved to perfection. She understood, placing her own white flower in between two new pages. She closed the book and looked up to return it. She smiled. It was just her and the field. She carefully pocketed the book and began looking around the field for another beautiful flower. After hours upon hours of cautiously rifling through each flower in the field, she came upon a single maroon-orange one. She contemplated how she could have ever missed this gorgeous rarity, in a field of white. Falling to her knees [already tattered and dirt-stained], she meticulously singled out the flower that was pulling at her heartstrings. Instead of abruptly picking it from its stem this time, she very cautiously dug out the flower from its lengthy roots. With mud and blades of grass visibly caught underneath each fingernail, she smiled as she held up her flower into the sunlight. 'Run home, baby girl. You know what to do with this one.' She turned around, feeling the wind carry a few stray strands of her auburn hair across her cinnamon-kissed face. Once again, she smiled. She felt an overwhelming sense of thankfulness and sprinted home through the cornfield with her growing flower closely nestled against her chest, while the other was tucked respectfully away in the pocketed book.
First loves are for learning, my dear. True loves are for growing.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The sun had set and the silhouettes of the city were entrancing. The entire world was below them, creating a deafening amalgamation of noise. But amongst all the quiet chaos, all she could hear was his heartbeat, whispering in her ear: 'I love you, always and forever.'
Now, how about some more pink lemonade? I pulled up a chair for you.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
She has always been fascinated by the honesty of heartbeats, the art of wearing your heart on your sleeve. However, it wasn't until tonight that she realized why. Have you ever thought about the truthfulness in a heartbeat? It is incapable of lying to you. The beat quickens when you're scared. It skips a beat when you're happy. It needs to be reminded to beat when you're hurt. It baits the butterflies in your stomach when you're falling.
Quit hiding, baby girl. He'll catch you.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
And you find yourself wide awake in the sunshine, singing that silly song: "Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head? And does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall? Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes, looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you? Oh, does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched? And does he cry through broken sentences like, 'I love you far too much'? Does he lay awake listening to your breath, worried you smoke too many cigarettes? He had eyes bright enough to burn me. And in a story told, she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field. And there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed. And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry's end, where I wrote:
'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.'"
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Have You Ever Ran Into The Open Arms Of The Sun? I Have. And It Sears The Happiness Into Your Soul, I Swear It.
Do you remember those summer nights when the street lights would flicker and buzz and eventually light up the neighborhood? We would run to the other side of town to avoid hearing the worried whistles of our mothers. Do you remember lying in the street, bare backs against the warm asphalt, looking up in amazement at those stars? I remember those days well. Just like today, when the warmth of the concrete brought more joy to my bare toes than anyone could ever deem imaginable. The warmth of the concrete on my toes. What a simple pleasure.
Aren't you glad summer's come back for you, baby girl?
It was one of those peacefully quiet nights that are most difficult to come by in the city. But he had told her that's why he came here, anyhow. She felt it almost immediately. Everything about this place was vulnerable and open. She stared out her window, personifying every landmark, questioning their vulnerability. What was it they were thinking? She closed her eyes and smiled. He was always asking what she was thinking. They had been driving for hours; although, in her current state of bliss, she had lost any concept of time. 'Why?', he would ask. And 'What is it you're thinking?' It had been a while since someone had cared to know what was running through that head of hers. So...she thought about that. And she stared out the window as his nervous fingers traced the contour of her nervous hand; the skip in her heartbeat becoming both welcome and familiar. She hadn't felt safe in a long while, but he had unknowingly conquered the immense walls she had built around herself the past few years. Of course she would tell him what she was thinking. Always. She broke her stare and glanced toward him, those green eyes steady on the road. She hadn't a care in the world where they were going. And she doubted he did either. She laughed to herself and he turned toward her. What a beautiful, beautiful smile.
Now, isn't that view breathtaking?
Monday, March 1, 2010
There was something to be said about the way he looked at her, the way he held her close, the way his lips graced hers. With one hand entangled with his and the other on his heart, she listened closely to its steady beat. She smiled. There was no use in trying to match the rhythm of their heartbeats. They were already in sync. She closed her eyes...
And fell, fell, fell.
Monday, February 22, 2010
And you can rest well because the boy you think is handsome is the same boy who thinks you're pretty.
And you found a penny today. And it was heads up for luck.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
It was as if she were watching a movie in slow motion, the plot beautifully unfolding in front of her eager eyes. You remember that still shot, don't you? Their bodies perfectly entwined, like puzzle pieces, genuinely shaped to fit one another.
Your heart hasn't felt this way in a long while, has it?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
She was most comfortable at the edge of her bed, with her feet dangling over the windowsill. She would lay back, close her eyes, think of summer and its perpetual breezes and smile as bright as the summer sun. "How do you like being free?", she would ask them. And they would smile right back.
Toes are meant to be painted.
It was one of those unforgivably, cold winter nights when all she could do was write to keep warm. Her words were masking the paper like velvet, flowing smoothly from the tip of her favorite pen. Unexpectedly, the ball of that black, ink pen hit a roadblock. Careful not to smear her new words out of existence, she turned the page over with the tenderness of an old friend. And she saw it. A scrap of paper, folded several times over. With the utmost delicacy, she unfolded the compressed obtrusion. Sloppy words, barely legible, had been quickly scrawled through the lines of the tattered notebook page. "The beauty of a person", it read "is simply contained in their sense of self, their bearing in the world and the undiluted character of their heart, mind and soul". He watched her smile. Now, don't go forgetting that again, baby girl. A knight needs his princess just as much as a princess needs her knight.
Just let yourself stumble into love with awkward, perfect grace.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The past few weeks were as refreshing to her as a glass of iced pink lemonade in the heat of summer. And she was careful to sip slowly.
But lately, all she could do was smile.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
It was one of those glorious mornings you hear about in all the stories. Bare feet, chipped nail-polish and wild strands of hair brushing past your face, teasing you with the scent of perfume from the night before. And there she was, leaning on the railing at the top of her stairway, thinking this was the only revelation that will ever matter to her. With bright eyes and an uncontrollable smile raging war against her lips, she laughed.
I was my own yellow bird all along.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
It wasn't the majestic kind of rain, it was the kind of heart wrenching rain that makes you grab your chest in pain as each drop sizzles on the summer sidewalk. As she sat on that porch, she rocked incessantly back and forth in that old chair that mimicked the unrelenting echo in her heart. She looked down at her weathered, frail hands, delicately tracing each wrinkle with her own finger. Each crease showed years of sacrifice, love and the devastation of a broken heart. She had waited for years. He never came back for her. He just let her get away. She slowly intertwined her own fingers, so that they were laced with each other. She leaned her head back and sighed one last, heartbreaking "I love you" with her last breath. She had grown old with memory at seventeen, and he was never coming back.
He is the lamb, she is the slaughterer. She lies awake, lies for fun and fakes the way she holds him. She lets him fall for every empty word she says. And every time, it's always the same. None of them would ever get the chance to hurt her because she's far too busy inflicting as much emotional pain on them as she, herself, had felt within the last two years.
Everything she knows about breaking hearts, she learned from you.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
It was one of those oddly [maybe imagined...] warm January afternoons when the fresh snow from the night before was melting into puddles on the forgotten matted grass. She wondered how the grass felt, taking its first breath of life in months. She believed she knew the feeling, smiled and skipped across the mud puddle-spotted backyard. It was sunny and she was smiling.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
She sat on her bed and read the pages she had written:
"After years of believing in the theory that great art only comes from great sadness, I have very recently come to the realization that life is too short and too vastly beautiful to waste time on such insignificant things as heartache, anguish, frustration and sadness. There are far greater experiences in life, no matter how simple, that have the bewildering capability of making us happy. I believe that happiness - pure undiluted happiness - can be found.
So, this is my life and I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be. And I wonder if anyone is really happy. I hope they are, I really hope they are. It might have made sad sense. Old pictures look very rugged and young. And the people in the photographs always seem a lot happier than you are. I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me. Maybe these are my glory days and I'm not even realizing it. And I think this is the first time in my life I ever felt 'happy'. Do you know what I mean? That nice feeling when you look in the mirror and you smile - really smile - for the first time in your life. It was a movie smile in slow motion and then everything was okay. And it was so beautiful because it's okay to feel things and be who you are about them. But I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry and a harmonica because it was like we were someone else. Like we were someplace better. And I know I was never so happy in my whole life. And in that moment...I swear we were infinite."
She believed every word this time.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Falling out of love was the suicide of her writing. Two slashes on each damned wrist, you knew what she meant. You never forget your first, but she will forget that life. It was something she had to do. The ink was gone but she'd been looking for something new to write about anyhow. New pen, new life, new story. Happiness this time? Two years had barely grazed past her. Where did all that time go? Was it well spent? Two years later. A heap of worthless boys. Worthless arms, worthless intertwined fingers, worthless heartbeats, worthless kisses. Two years later and it was a new year. Did you expect to feel again? Did you expect the butterflies? The clammy hands? Your stomach in your throat? Or your heart in your stomach? The walls are high and metaphor is only a word. But maybe if the door gets broken down, love can break in. Do you believe that? She does.
It was the kind of kiss that made her know she was never so happy in her whole life. You can either fight it or stand back while he's breaking down the door.