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.