Dancing Feet

They connected while dancing.

He proposed through dance, their leaps and their twirls in that waltz ending up at that certain table with that certain box that served as table for that ring.

They had five dancers and each hinted at their dancing feet by the kicks felt within.

-

They danced until wrinkles covered their face, and their feet struggled to move. They danced until hair grew white like their first dancing shoes. And when they returned to that dance hall, memories came flooding back. Albeit with wrinkles and ache-y joints, their feet moved as they hadn’t in years.

A Letter to My Beloved

A little side note: I felt like this needed to be more than a drabble. I've been realizing that no wording can capture the love of the Lord - you have to feel it. But, sometimes it feels to me like the love is disjointed from my life somehow. Like, it's just a part of history that is, well, in the past - separated from me. But, I forget that I love a personal God. A personal God loves me. Which is where this drabble and a half [or so] stems from and that is why I wrote 200 words worth, because I felt it needed it.

Oh, my child.
I wish you'd see that I've made your life to further you perfectly.
I have rounded every broken relationship
every deep valley
every mountain top
every battle to make your life pleasing in my sight.
I wish you'd remember the amount of love that has been extended to you - my own died so I could welcome you into my heavenly courts.
The schemes of darkness will never have victory, because I have won.
I have placed angels around you to protect my most precious.
You live in a broken world, understand that.
But, take heart! I have overcome the brokeness. In fact, when you runto me, and allow me to cover you with who I am, I make your broken self whole.
So, look to me, my princess. I will make you whole. I will fill your cup. Your face will be made radiant for I am light and you are my child.
Precious, beloved, betrothed.
You are mine.
I am yours.
Love you always and forever (really!),
Your King

Gravestones and Epitaphs

The hallway was silent.

Eerily silent.

Eerily empty.

And yet there he stood, looking at the chipped lockers, the scuffed floor, the worn doors.

He wasn’t sure how to feel because four years in this place tend to do that to a person.

Four years of mockery, lunches, relationships, crushes, writing, homework, people.

Four years of it all.

And part of him saw happiness.

And part of him saw the gravestones of past relationships, of ugly comments, and pastimes that were now long gone.

He felt as if he were looking at an epitaph of who he once was.

And he wasn’t quite sure if he was willing to let go of him.

Frayed Fabric

She never knew frayed fabric could be so beautiful.

The hidden, guarded seams.The faulty thread, the loosely woven cotton, and the messy knots that revealed themselves upon closer inspection. They’re dark, a bit embarrassing, and somewhat shameful. The dark thread that’s tight, even stitches have been tied off and are in perfect harmony with the garment. The black that was being sewn to hem up the edges, the decorative pink that made it presentable, and the orange that was added for pleasurable viewing.

She looked and saw a person whose fabric was being sewn to serve a singular purpose and it was beautiful.

Master of the Oceans

The lightning tore across the sky, waves tormenting the side of the boat, tossing it up and pulling it down, dragging it through the vast torrents.
This was perilous weather.
"My Lord!" I cried, "Do you not care that we will meet our deaths in this precipice?"
Thunder boomed, lightning streaked, waves tossed, and fear ensued.
Amidst the darkness he smiled. I could sense it, somehow. As if light was pouring into the dark of the night.
His voice, calm and mighty, cast it's power over the sea.
"Peace! Be still."
And then nothing but serenity.



My teacher had just commanded the oceans.

A piece of Purple

Purple liked to run.
When she saw them snicker, when the sneers were too overwhelming, when she just couldn't seem to cope with anything in a poised way, she'd tie those worn shoes and head out down the gravel road.
Nobody around her.
Just the breeze tickling her salty face.
Just the feeling of the solid gravel as her feet slammed upon its solidity.
It was her weapon.
And there was something about the rhythm of plodding over that surface, something about the ground penetrating through her core that gave her joy.
Purple couldn't hear the world. And that was why she ran.

Death's Abandonment

I saw the heavy material as it was donned, the shoes as they were tied, the gun as it was strapped.
Utterly mundane.
Trudging through the norm, groaning about the typicality of the day.
Footsteps sounding and clattering.
Then terror. Utter terror descending as the announcement crackled across the fortress.
The hands of the crashing quickly and rapidly thrust the inhabitants down onto the solid dirt. No warning but the bell. No sound but the screams.
The clattering stopped.
The groaning was not heard.
The gun, the shoes, the material lay in shreds.

I was-
I am here.
Terrified. Lost.
They are not.

I should've died.

Everything and then Nothing.

Such joy. Such wonder. Such amazement as I stared at my growing belly protruding over my waistline. Such excitement as furniture was placed in the blue hued room, clothes hung upon the once empty closet rod. Such happiness as just the mere touch of our hands would send his little kicks into full fledge motion.

And then nothing. No kicks. No wonder. No amazement. Just grief. Just plans for burial.

Just “I’m sorry”s.

But amidst the void of it all there is an abundance of hope, life.

For, He is holding our little boy in the glorious places on high.

A Chance Meeting - The City That Never Sleeps

“Oh my goodness! Julie, is that you?”
Chairs scrape.
“Agatha! Oh my gosh! It’s you!”
Hugs.
“How’ve you been? It's been too long!”
“Oh I know! I think it's been almost 4 years! How time does fly. I’ve been so good! Patrick is in California...and 21!"
Drinks sipped.
“He must be so grown up! ”
“Oh, he is! I have to tell you, I wasn’t sure what would happen after college, but, Neal and I are so happy he is where he is.”
Pictures shown.
A pause.
“Oh my my. We’re getting old, aren’t we?”
Chuckles.
“Yeah. I guess we are.”

Jagged Edges - The City That Never Sleeps

There they were. A forest, a people, cowered into corners, cardboard raised, hands brittle, feet numb, hair wet.
Though scattered across the city they were an army.
Each with a story of how they got to the corner of fifth and 42nd, palms out, croaky voices raised.
I saw the jagged edges of who they were,  run down from living on nothing but the grime of the streets.
I saw their hurt.
And it hurt.
Because I knew, that these people didn't realize that there had been a sacrifice made for their life.

They don't realize how rich they truly are.

The Weeping Game - The City That Never Sleeps

It began immediately.
The toes stepped out from that moving car and were promptly met with the unwelcoming state of The Jungle. The skies, dark and gloomy, cried somber tears of melancholy emotions onto the inhabitants of the sweeping city. There were no tissues to meet the sadness, just umbrellas (a body of water in and of itself). Those who held the parts of the massive sea looked as somber as the sky. As if the world was spoiled milk and they were the much desired lucky charms, ruined by the rancid fluid.
Everyone in The Jungle was miserable.
Everyone but me.

A Woman - The City That Never Sleeps

Her eyes listlessly drift across the sea of people, the various shapes and sizes melding together to look like one, big blob of life.
Her once vibrant hair now lays wispy and white. The cane used to hold up her feeble body leans as she does, propped up against the solitary bench. Oh, but her face! It's a masterpiece, a canvas that exhibits the beautiful inscriptions of the battles of her life. The strokes of the paintbrush have been many and ceaselessly scrawl countless lines into her flesh.
She's walked all over kingdom come, but for now, she sits.
Greyed, weathered, worn.

I wonder what those eyes have seen.

regret & my foolish head

You know those moments that you look back on with utter regret because you said something before thinking about the outcome and the affect and who was in the room? You sit there, those words just playing over and over in your head, the response echoing inside the deepest caves of your mind. You realize how foolish the human mind is and despite all of the calculating and the thinking it can do, it is completely 100% absurd  But, gosh. This happens way too many times.
I promise I did not mean it the way you think I did.
Don't worry.
I regret it.

through the computer screen

His face peers into the big black square, his forehead lined with the marks of age.

His feeble hands lift the phone up.

“H-H-Hello? Maddie? Are you there?”

A young voice crackles from the technology.

“Hi, gramps!” He can hear her smile. “I’m here!”

The old man smiles. It was so good to hear her voice.

“So, how do you turn this thing on?”

Gramps listened. The screen changed colours and a sound erupted from the speaker adjacent. He followed the instructions.Typing in his email (which he didn’t know he had!). Pressing the phone next to the button that read Maddie’s name.

~

Maddie saw his face fill up the screen.

Gramps had tears in his eyes.

life

My life isn't slowing down.
A month ago, as homework was piling up in front of me like a fat man piling butter on top of his pancakes on a Saturday morning, I would've told you that by May 19th life would've slowed down. I would have enough time to make endless amounts of the recipes I've pinned on pinterest. Subjects in school would've gotten easier by now. At least that's what my brain thought.
My poor, over-saturated brain.
Well, dear brain a month ago,
Take a look at the:
Dark circles under my eyes.
Index cards flying off the table like it isn't anybodies business.
The moving sign outside the house.
Boxes beginning to pile up.
4 drabbles that need to be written.
Nails that need to be painted.
Clothes that need to be washed.
Homework that needs to be done. (essay's and such.)
The waiting for the audition outcome to come soaring into the inbox.
I have lines that need to be memorized.
Food that needs to be eaten. (or not.)
Books that need to be read.

My dear, poor, over-saturated mind that I cannot live without,
I cannot believe I'm saying this, but, you lied to me.

I need a nap.

the beige house that i love so much

Rickety porch stairs
Fraying carpet
Yellow walls
Black mailbox with a white 17 on it
A front door that doesn’t quite shut
Little closets, little rooms.

Our love. It’s in the little closets and the fraying carpet. It’s in the counters stained from one too many dropped tea bags that always fall on the way to the trash can. It’s in the stained carpet and the black mailbox with the white 17 on it.
I've grown up  here.
What happens when we leave and the memories start to fade of the beige house at the end of the cul de sac with a beautiful garden all overflowing with our love?

I don't really want to leave.

fantasies (5.1.13)

The man strides across the lacquered floor and stops at the oak door heavy laden with gothic engravings and knocks thrice.
This was it.
The door opens and the hinges creak in a strange welcome to the man.
“Princess Madeline, Sir Davenport is here.” 
“Send him in,” replies the smooth, sultry voice. 
And then it hit him.
She was not a figment of his imagination. She was as real as the nose on his face and the hair on his head. Realer than the sun setting over the mountains. Realer than the shoes on his feet and the money in his pocket.
He crossed the threshold and smiled.