Random

128.

I don’t need a love so adventurous, daring and impossibly cunning, thoughts of prince charmings or valiant foes.

All I would be in want for is a love so gentle, so subtle, like the faint touch of the elbow to show hey, I’m here to support you,

And I’m certain that kind of simplicity will do.

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121.

Rewriting an old piece that holds a portion of myself.

Best friends, pursuers of the world hidden within words. She speaks often, but he remains imprisoned in the mind despite superior comprehension. In the quiet reads, there is a feeling to strive for.

There he is, leaning against the large tree trunk, balanced on a branch with a burgundy tome in his possession. The consumption of knowledge undeterred until sight is obscured by pesky hands.

Articulate her name with a notable scowl, earning a laugh from the brunette, bearer of a diminutive smile that he adored best. Hello, she utters, and while he has every intention to shake his head at the impertinence, it does not come to pass as a gentle notion flutters across his complex mind.

She acquired a fear of scaling trees after an incident involving the death of a featherless baby bird. It tumbled out of its twig nest. Accusing herself a murderer, the pain and guilt that beset the heart. This fear he prayed against, that its tendrils would no longer need to tangle with her conscience, that he would be one quelling these possibilities. That they would have to creep past him to get to her.

The silly idea that hums at the back of his mind.

The fact that the brunette scales the tree would mean two things: that she is prepared to overcome her fears, and that she is in want of his company despite adversity. Incredibly heartwarming. Congratulations, he says tersely, before returning to his read. Dissatisfied by his choice, she pesters him with childish methods before imbalance overtakes.

Eyes wide, arm outstretched to catch the falling, astonishment flitting past chocolate eyes, the strange lightness of being before crashing. The throbbing that slowly receded, even she notes the magnificent cerulean sky. Turn to the side, lips that curl.

Best friend, she mildly teased. Didn’t you promise me that you’ll catch me when I fall?

Auburn eyes that crinkle. The voice that stirs wizened leaves.

I already have, are the words he softly whisper as he raises their interlocked fingers before her very own eyes.

And had she not known any better, it is surely in that moment that her heart would have swayed.

120.

Ways introverts display affection:

  • Watching the glimmer in your eyes
  • Listening endlessly
  • Mouthing words across the crowded room
  • The phone call
  • Initiating touch
  • Tracing letters into your palm
  • Lengthy messages
  • Going to that party with you
  • Shadows walking side by side
  • Interacting on low social battery
  • Sharing incredibly personal thoughts
  • Remembering you

(and how many more shall introverts count in their unchanging ways)

99.

So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?

Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.

In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.

97.

Pinpricks of light, wandering stars gravitating toward a force bigger than their own.

Though frequently perceived as shy and ordinary, small and obtuse, two individuals are running to chase a distant falling. Eyes that forget to keep to their feet, fists clenched are released and raised frantically. Darkness and tangled roots, damp grass and twisty trunks, feet that meet and trip.

I’m sorry, she says abashed, picking up the other’s glasses. I’m chasing a shooting star.

A hand stretches to take what is his, and a smile grows across the face.

So am I, he quietly admits. I can’t let something beautiful die without anyone ever knowing it. It would be a real waste.

Blink.

Would you catch it with me?