Random Channel Surfing

I remember idealizing you. It was easy to do. Your blue blue eyes and your Grecian nose and your full full lips. I knew the effect you had on my life was permanent. A deep scar--sensitive scar tissue that tingled with every rippling memory--a handprint sunk in cement for the world to remember that Marcela fell in love quickly and loudly, a firecracker. A reminder that all it took for someone to gain admission into my heart was a timid smile and a soft touch.  Foolish. Stupid. Naive. A girl that tripped over her too large shoes on her too small feet. Bumbling through life and never quite learning. Always trusting too quickly and too surely.  How many times must I learn the lesson for it to stick? But all of this is irrelevant when I find myself wondering how you are doing. Hoping that you are well and that you are happy and that you finally   finally   realized how funny and charming and clever you are. Not many people saw past your facade but I did. ...

Is there a way of liking a person without feeling like you're in middle school?

The rain was falling. The work was flowing. 'Twas good.

You know those moments when you can't stop laughing? When your stomach, your mouth and even your back hurt from the strain your laughing is causing them? You want to stop laughing, but it feels so good.  And why would you stop doing something that makes your head feel light and giddy? Right? Those are my favourite moments.

She sees the way he eyes her. How his eyes seem to linger on her lips or her eyes, the fine curve of her neck. And something always twists inside; hurts and stings and punches a hole in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Because his eyes never linger on her. They flit around the room until they zero in on their intended target. She hates that she's always there to see.

I'm trying this new thing where I put on a random CD or playlist and writewritewrite. I want to see how melodies and harmonies and rhythm and lyrics and themes affect my story. Alter my syntax. Change me . So I'm trying this out and, in the process, I'm drowning in these memories of you and me. And it's silly how much I remember. Like the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and when you speak and when you just are . And the way you say certain words with this ridiculous accent and intone certain parts of one word but not the other, your voice filling me completely and raining down on me, making me smile just as every single rainstorm makes me smile, filling me with incomparable joy, never mind the fact that even your nonsense is articulate and persuasive. Or the way you'd always smirk at me; proof that my feelings for you were as clear to you as they were to me, a trophy in a glass case for you to admire or deny at your leisure. I'm convinced you knew the ext...