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.

This is a terrible excuse for a last drabble. i am so out of things to write about.

i write.  

all curled up in my favorite thinking spot and i lift that ballpoint pen and bite the top.

and i lower it down to the page and scrawl out the things my muse had whispered to me while i lay awake.

so, i write. until there are no more words, simply a piece of artwork on a once blank sheet of white paper.

i don't write in cursive. i write in scrawny lowercase letters which grew bigger as my hand grew lazier and more tired.

but, sometimes, i get to lazy and i just type everything out in arial because everything looks better in arial. or times new roman. But not comic sans.

rachel.

7 years and counting. 

We can share strange(and very unattractive) faces in the midst of stressful places & it makes everything seem better.
And, you know, now that I think about it, we probably have too much chocolate when we're together because we're always too loud. guffawing and jumping around like psychos.
but, along with laughter and smiles, in her i find trustworthiness & understanding.
Thank you Lord for giving me someone who cries at the end of performances, thinks about others before herself, listens to girl problems, and ultimately keeps you in the center of her life.
Bestfriend, I love you so much.

end of the road

he was cold, battered, broken and damaged from the journey.
the shoes on his feet were but dust along the road from which he had come from. his eyes had lost their shine-the punishment of days of walking in the dust with his eyes spread wide open in order to escape the taloned clutches of death waiting for him to give in.
he saw the city.
he saw her running towards him, arms stretched out to receive his broken body.
he felt her around him, so alive within his arms.
and he knew the journey had been worth it.

colours

grey.
the road i walked.
black.
the clothes i wore.
white.
the sound of his voice beckoning me.
"come my child. your wrong has been made right by my blood."
i looked and behold.
red of the darkest blood, shed for my grey.
yellow of the light cutting through the darkness.
blue of the royal clothes he gave me. a sign of the beautiful inheritance i receive through the red, the yellow, the white.
and the colours. the beautiful hues woven throughout the scenery.
i saw them all. I saw their individual importance.
I saw the colours of his forgiveness and mercy.

Closure (For May 26 & 27)

I guess it all started the day you said hi to me. Isn't that how all these funny life experiences start?
I found your lisp more attractive than naught.
Little by little every minuscule spot in my heart was filled up with thoughts and feelings towards and of you.
It was funny how everything played out. In fact, it kind of went down like I imagined a fairy tale would.
I became lost in a strange feeling I couldn't quite describe. Yet, while I was stumbling over words, you knew exactly how you felt.
So you left. I can't say I blame you, either.
But, I have my heart back now, you know.
 -
My hands hover over the keyboard. This is it. This is the last line to the closing letter of this friendship. How can I tell you that I'm thankful for the hurt? How can I tell you I'm stronger now than I've ever been? How can I tell you, you made my happier times happier because of the tears and the heartache?
-

And even though, our "us" didn't work out, I know that what I’ve dreamed of having my entire life, a prince who will make me feel beautiful and special, he’s out there.

I just have to wait.

and I hope, I really really hope, you find your princess.

god's words

You know when you lay in bed at night, the cool air making your nose red, the covers pulled up around your face, and you just feel lonely? just so lonesome for something, for someone to wrap their arms around you and huddle under the covers with you and kiss your cold nose. i know it sounds weird but he is that to me. i find refuge in his words, and when i’m tired and i feel alone, i curl up in bed, and read what he placed on the minds of a person thousands of years ago. and somehow everything's better. somehow i don’t feel so lonely anymore. somehow the darkness is bearable and the void next to me is tolerable.

finals.

I open up the crimson locker with a swift twist of my hands to find books staring back at me.
The spines read, Biology, World History I, Algebra.
Daunting names.
Frustrating lessons.
Such a long year. I'd learned so much, how am I supposed to remember all of it?
How do they even think that I can get a passing grade for this, anyways? 
She wanted to forsake it all and just go lay on the beach somewhere with a book and a lemonade next to her.
It was too much to ask, though.
She had finals week ahead of her.

blather.

It is something in the pit of my stomach that has this happy buzz about it.
It makes me want to run, to leap, to splash.
So, I run, I leap, I splash.
My head tilted to the sky, the grey mass above me not doing anything to damper my mood.
I squeal as my toes hit the cold surface of the water, and shout with glee as the slight trickle of rain becomes incessant downpour.
Sometimes, I talk like a child, I think like a child, I act like a child.
Strange? No.
Because, usually it's under the influence of coffee.