There's an ongoing list I've been writing called "What I love about you". I always add to it when I can because I'm always coming up with new reasons. But one reason I wrote just doesn't seem complete with just the single bullet point. I wrote,
I call this photo the Lovers.
Is there Love? when you spend majority of your life feeling as though you were by yourself or because you weren’t like everyone else that you felt you didn’t belong anywhere. Even though, you did try to fit in. It felt like you were forcing yourself and other times it was just a negative effect that broke you piece by piece. It killed you to put those pieces back together because it took a lot of you to try and then feel that pain at the end repeatedly, but you did it.
It was a simple Sunday morning, nothing special. Except that I slept in later than usual and didn’t emerge from my bedroom right away. Instead, I lay there relaxing and meditating while massaging my muscles for an hour.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about Love, and what it even is, because it is such a grand feeling, that really can't be explained or described, it's something that needs to be felt and experienced.
The rain could be heard pitter-pattering on the roof above. Trevor couldn’t seem to get his knee to stop bouncing up and down below the tablecloth in anticipation. He didn’t need to look around him to take in the beautiful decor of the restaurant: the maroon-colored walls and twinkling, romantic lights had already been appreciated by both him and Allison when they’d come here to celebrate their 5 year anniversary together. Since then, they’d returned several times.
It’s Monday morning on one of the coldest days of the winter, and I’m sitting at my kitchen table drinking my coffee writing this post.
Her hair was long and blonde shaping her pale oval face. She was short, barely able to reach the Scottish Heather honey on the center shelf. Her shoes were worn but clean, she walked often. which was surprising considering we lived in a town where no one walked. No one in this town was even the slightest bit sagacious, most people having enmity between them. it wasn't comforting traveling on foot alone here. Her black dress came right above her knees. It was loose, a turtle neck but fit tightly at the top complimenting her thin sculpted collar bone. She wore a silver opal necklace with rust on the clasp, it was sentimental, you could tell by the way she twirled it between her red painted fingers like a nervous tick. Her earrings also matching. She looked free, but you could tell she was some what martinet by the way she carried herself. She wasn’t impecunious, but she wasn’t for Material things. Her purse was dark leather, faded from the sun. The left strap was barely holding on by a clothes pin. There was a bridle black book barely showing from the center pocket, almost looking like a bible the way the edge of the pages glistened in the Light. You painted, I knew that because your dress had little drops of teal paint along the bottom barely missing your skin as if you were sitting, legs under a canvas. It baffled me at first, you looked like a reader, or maybe a writer. Glasses scratched like they were constantly coming on and off, “maybe you used them for painting?” I questioned myself. My curiosity was traverse. Who were you ? And why did everything about you perplex me, making my mind all the sudden itinerant. You didn’t wear makeup from what I could see, your skin had natural beauty and your thin eyebrows shaped your eyes like a drop of water rippling the surface. You were a anachronism, Too old fashion, simple, and fragile for a world so imperious. I wondered your name something angelic or passed down from your family. You looked like a Katy, but I wasn’t going to assume. I was john, John Dwight a local potterer for Goodman’s just down the street from where I lived, off of old bethel. It was a small town and I wasn’t much but I was known to be a good man and the people I surrounded myself with were promising. As You touched everything on the shelf you passed by, I noticed you liked organic stuff. Grazing your red fingers across the white Daisy’s in the middle of the Market while making your way to the back side of the bread bakery. I wasn’t following you, at atleast I wasn’t meaning to. We were just coincidentally heading in the same direction and then there we were, face to face.
It all started with a message.
She saw the way he looked at her, this was real. She'd never felt so sure of anything in her whole life. Or, to be more accurate, she'd never been so sure of a relationship in her whole life. She hadn't chased this one, she had resisted pursuing him! Call it self preservation, but she didn't want to feel like she was forcing him to want her. No, she wanted him to come to her. Thats not to say she was cold around him, She made sure as to leave him in no doubt about how she felt. For the first time ever, somebody had met her half way.
My love for stones runs real deep, I love things that shine and glitter. Anything that flickers. Really rocks my socks. Oh yeah, that pun was hella intended.
I’ve always been the type of girl that finds inspiration and serenity in a good rain storm. Ever since I was a little girl, I would seize every opportunity to sit and watch it fall for hours, my mind creating mini-movies of all the different paths I could choose in my life. A rock star perhaps? I did love music on a soul level. A veterinarian so I could save little animal lives? Possibly. A photographer or painter? Maybe, I could help others see the beauty in what I was seeing. Sometimes, I would race out the back door of my family’s little blue house in my bare feet and leap from the wood porch onto the slimy grass. I would run around while rain pellets struck every part of me, laughing and yelling as if this was a brand new phenomenon and I was the only person in the world experiencing it. The scent that invites you to inhale as deep as you can, until your lungs tighten and your beating heart feels like it’s on the outside of your chest. The sound that instantly soothes and makes you believe you’re right where destiny wants you, or energizes and pushes you to get on your feet and run. Then there’s the feel, as if your skin has never experienced this level of enveloping clean. A celestial clean. A nurturing clean. I had been convinced, since my first love affair with the rain when I was a toddler, that this element would always be my energizing solace no matter the circumstances...