|I'm the type of person who, when I'm upset, will write myself into a world where either I'm not in pain or my pain is at least a lot more adventurous.|
Today, I met the most aesthetically pleasing person I've ever seen. Well, I didn't meet him. I didn't even speak to him.
Why didn't I speak to him?
I was in a bookstore with my childhood friend, buying this brownie mix flavored concoction to sip on as I read this book that was twenty dollars too expensive for me. I turned around to take my seat as I waited for the drink to be prepared, and there he was.
I couldn't avoid eye contact fast enough.
He was with a friend, and the two of them had a unique aura about them, but he was the one that stood out to me.
I can't even remember how tall he was. My memory is terrible, you see. I'm losing more of it as I write.
I remember his hair, how the...
At the day's end, I will swoop in and snatch you up with my talons.
At that time, I'll let you decide whether I'm the courageous hero rescuing the damsel or the dashing villain dooming you to a very interesting night.
There is something almost parental in the way he reaches for my hand if I walk just a little too far ahead of him. One can see it in the way he reads me his favorite books and how he tucks me into bed before saying goodbye, leaving me the perfect blanket burrito. It's there in how he makes me omelets on the few mornings that we get to wake up together.
Yes, there's something parental in the way he loves me.
But maybe there's something childish in the way I take a skip ahead just to make sure he's still uneasy. Maybe it's revealed when I ask for just one more chapter three chapters later, and how I crawl into bed as soon as I see him reach for his watch. Maybe there's something child-like in...
Today, I picked up my life for the past year and I divided it up and put it in boxes. It's peculiar how powerful or cheap some memories feel when they are wrapped in cardboard.
That over there is a little crochet heart that my roommate made me. It was the first thing she learned how to make. She's gone now. She already left.
There is my piccolo sitting on the window sill. It can't play a B flat anymore, and sometimes it forgets how to play an A, depending on the weather. It probably won't witness another marching season.
Tomorrow, though, I'll sit down in a chair far away from here, and I might close my eyes for a while. Maybe I won't close my eyes. Maybe I'll just sit there, making faces ...