We Could Run All Night & Dance Upon the Architechture

I am wide awake.  I feel like having an adventure--driving around, listening to music, grabbing a cup of coffee when it's the most inconvenient (and rewarding).  Laughing hysterically because it's late and we're delirious.  I just feel this pounding in my chest and I want to make it count.  I feel like being trouble--young and eager and light and heavy because that's what being young is.  It's a moment...at 11:07 pm on a Friday night.  I want to know I lived it.

Nothing Comes Without a...

"It behooves a man who wants to see wonders sometimes to go out of his way."

— The Travels of Sir John Mandeville

Perhaps this is why I prefer fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt—it makes me feel like I've earned my snack.

Real Talk

I was talking with a recently married friend yesterday and ended our conversation wishing her many years of mind-blowing sex. 

But then I started to think, so what do I wish upon all my single friends?  And I decided I wished them joyous years filled with bottomless drinks, fine food, and countless hold-on-I-have-to-go-into-the-other-room-because-I'm-laughing-so-hard-I-can't-breathe moments!

But then I realized that sounds like something someone tapes to their mirror after reemerging from a crusty mountain of used Kleenex and crumpled Dove wrappers.

So, I'm back to square one, which consists of wishing all my single friends the ability to wish other couples great sex.

Sorry, kids. 

But, I console you with this...

Since I was five I've wanted to live in a house with a library.  Go ahead, blame it on Beauty & the Beast.  But I've always imagined a room, not even a large room, but just a room with floor-to-ceiling shelving.  When I was a kid I used to bury myself under my dad's books.  I would pull them off all the shelves and lay them around me and on top of me.  I couldn't even read, but I just loved the mystique of words; I knew they contained something special, and that one day I would know exactly what. Till then, I wanted to surround myself with them...and I still do.  It's just a safe place for me, where my spirit can run wild and my mind can drink in some solace.

Confession:  when I imagine Heaven I see two things—endless greenery, and sitting in a library room with comfy chairs and blankets, talking to God and being read to.  I don't know why, but it just seems like the most intimate place to me, I guess because I sometimes see God as an old, quirky grandpa who smokes a pipe and wants to share stories with you because he's always trying to get you to live your own—like C.S. Lewis mixed with Mr. Coreander from The NeverEnding Story or something.

Feel free to roll your eyes, I'm pretty sure you just got a glimpse of the corniest side of me. But, you can't deny the charm of the book-house I discovered on Yahoo!  Not a library mind you, a house.  It's literally constructed so that every space—every room, every wall—serves as shelving.

It's not quite Heaven, but it makes me feel one step closer.

I Walk A Little Faster

Romantics tend to take the world a little harder, and hope for the best anyway.

Landlocked

I once read that every pearl derives from a single irritant of sand.  My only question: which way to the sea?

Wearing Your Heart on Your Sleeve

I pulled up the neck of my sweater before I knocked on your door today.  The story etched on my skin is not one you want to know.  Even though it traces something beautiful.

So, I buttoned another button before I served you your eggs.  I layered my hair over my shoulders before I hugged you goodbye.  Because I love you, and understand how helpless exposure can make you feel.

But I could not conceal the breath of release that escaped, when I closed the door behind me and could shed what was not my own.  Or suppress the ease of my smiles, when he presses his lips against my raised colors and whispers, "You're healing nicely."