And you found a penny today. And it was heads up for luck.
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.
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.