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.137 x freewriting
She would do anything for the sound of his voice. The sun is shining, it lights the sky citrine-ruby-blue as it sinks against the horizon. Clouds blaze fire, pirouetting slow rhythms against the cerulean canvas of life. It dances to the beat. It all dances to the beat. It’s life; it’s a heartbeat, a breath, the whisper of a voice. His voice.
She can watch him while he sleeps. He’s peaceful, his hair curling against his cheek. His breath comes steady and deep, deep as the green of summer, and just as bright with life. The summer sun is blinding, and love can be too. It’s easy to forget mistakes, to miss the flaws that everyone possesses. Other times love is hard, love is heartache; it is misunderstandings and tears and feeling neglected or underappreciated. But it’s all okay in the end. Because he makes her happy, and she would do anything for him. For the touch of his lips. For the beauty of his face. For the sound of his voice. Sometimes she might forget, she might lose sight of the beautiful truth while she’s caught up in the little things, the drudgery of the “real world.” But in the end she remembers.
He’s perfect, at least for her. Perfect in the way a spring day is perfect, with the temperature just right—she can wear shorts or jeans, shorts sleeves or long. Spring is life renewing after a long stretch of cold and sleep, beautiful in its own way but simply no comparison. He is, simply, life.
Tomorrow is just around the corner. There are a hundred little demands. The world is calling. Maybe it doesn’t depend on you, but people in it do. And you depend on the world. It’s funny because life is the little things: smiles, kisses, shared laughs, riding bikes together until your legs ache and you just can’t make it up the next hill. Things this simple shouldn’t depend on money, but they so often do. Money for security, money for food, money for getting along in the world you depend on: structured, where you work for money and pay for food, and the cycle never really ends. Still, life exists within the cycle, and the small things keep you going, because what is the world worth if you can’t share a smile with your loved one when you get home at night?
Let the structure dissolve…
**
She is rosy and she wants to lie in the grass, mind empty, thoughts caressing the sky. Her hand meets the deep red of the couch… red like blood, red like passion and need and, hell the Redskins. Her eyes glisten but she isn’t crying, oh no. A family of geese makes its home in the memory of her cell phone, something sweet and subtle wandered into on an unassuming day. She has wishes and desires but she’s content to walk beside the dirty lake on the way to the garage, talking to her brother who’s a thousand miles away. Her eyes are closed and maybe that’s what it takes to open them; she can see, she can flow, she can move with the beating rhythm of the heart, which is really more staccato and erratic than they lead you to believe.
The giant dog who lives outside is really very sweet, though he has been known to bite. He loves treats and takes them delicately from you fingers, and you’d never know…
She can’t help but think, her brain gets in the way, she stops and edits even with her eyes closed. Back it up, she knows where her fingers go, yet how do they make it to the wrong keys anyway? She wishes she had music and rhythm and dancing, she wishes she could be all these things, and he says that she’s enough as she is but sometimes she just isn’t sure. She could be… she could be…
Everything.
I liked this unit of my HONR267 class. It was dance, so it was very artistic and not as rigidly or traditionally structured as the others. For the paper, we could perform in class and then write a reflection on it instead of the 4-6 page formal paper required in other units. Since we only have to write papers on two units, the first and one of our choice, I chose this unit. Writing isn't exactly a performance art, though, so I hope what I'm turning in is satisfactory. I also hope it isn't late; I heard her in class saying that we could turn it in by Monday since she wouldn't be checking her email this weekend anyway, but the syllabus says it was due Friday at 5pm.
Whatever, I'm done now. I hope I get an A. I got a B on the last one. I tried to incorporate all aspects of the question/prompt on the dance page, so hopefully it'll be good.
So I'm waiting for Danny to get home. He had to work today; usually he's off on Sundays, but today was the release of Mario Kart. Speaking of which, I should play that until he gets home. And I need to remember to print out my lab for tomorrow morning. At least Thursday I get to pick out my schedule for next semester. That'll be a relief to have set out.
Work today pretty much sucked. Lydia elected not to show up -- again, apparently. Yesterday she called ten minutes before she was supposed to come in (Bre reported to me, since I wasn't there) to ask when she was supposed to work, and when Bre told her, she huffed and hung up... and never showed up, never called back, nothing. Today she didn't call at all. She's so fired. Anyway, somebody from Langley Park came to cover her shift, but she didn't get there for almost three hours after Lydia was due to start... and then I was supposed to skip my lunch and leave a half hour early, but I ended up skipping my lunch and staying fifteen minutes late. I guess it's okay. It's more hours.
So I'll go. I need to brush my teeth.
She can watch him while he sleeps. He’s peaceful, his hair curling against his cheek. His breath comes steady and deep, deep as the green of summer, and just as bright with life. The summer sun is blinding, and love can be too. It’s easy to forget mistakes, to miss the flaws that everyone possesses. Other times love is hard, love is heartache; it is misunderstandings and tears and feeling neglected or underappreciated. But it’s all okay in the end. Because he makes her happy, and she would do anything for him. For the touch of his lips. For the beauty of his face. For the sound of his voice. Sometimes she might forget, she might lose sight of the beautiful truth while she’s caught up in the little things, the drudgery of the “real world.” But in the end she remembers.
He’s perfect, at least for her. Perfect in the way a spring day is perfect, with the temperature just right—she can wear shorts or jeans, shorts sleeves or long. Spring is life renewing after a long stretch of cold and sleep, beautiful in its own way but simply no comparison. He is, simply, life.
Tomorrow is just around the corner. There are a hundred little demands. The world is calling. Maybe it doesn’t depend on you, but people in it do. And you depend on the world. It’s funny because life is the little things: smiles, kisses, shared laughs, riding bikes together until your legs ache and you just can’t make it up the next hill. Things this simple shouldn’t depend on money, but they so often do. Money for security, money for food, money for getting along in the world you depend on: structured, where you work for money and pay for food, and the cycle never really ends. Still, life exists within the cycle, and the small things keep you going, because what is the world worth if you can’t share a smile with your loved one when you get home at night?
Let the structure dissolve…
She is rosy and she wants to lie in the grass, mind empty, thoughts caressing the sky. Her hand meets the deep red of the couch… red like blood, red like passion and need and, hell the Redskins. Her eyes glisten but she isn’t crying, oh no. A family of geese makes its home in the memory of her cell phone, something sweet and subtle wandered into on an unassuming day. She has wishes and desires but she’s content to walk beside the dirty lake on the way to the garage, talking to her brother who’s a thousand miles away. Her eyes are closed and maybe that’s what it takes to open them; she can see, she can flow, she can move with the beating rhythm of the heart, which is really more staccato and erratic than they lead you to believe.
The giant dog who lives outside is really very sweet, though he has been known to bite. He loves treats and takes them delicately from you fingers, and you’d never know…
She can’t help but think, her brain gets in the way, she stops and edits even with her eyes closed. Back it up, she knows where her fingers go, yet how do they make it to the wrong keys anyway? She wishes she had music and rhythm and dancing, she wishes she could be all these things, and he says that she’s enough as she is but sometimes she just isn’t sure. She could be… she could be…
Everything.
I liked this unit of my HONR267 class. It was dance, so it was very artistic and not as rigidly or traditionally structured as the others. For the paper, we could perform in class and then write a reflection on it instead of the 4-6 page formal paper required in other units. Since we only have to write papers on two units, the first and one of our choice, I chose this unit. Writing isn't exactly a performance art, though, so I hope what I'm turning in is satisfactory. I also hope it isn't late; I heard her in class saying that we could turn it in by Monday since she wouldn't be checking her email this weekend anyway, but the syllabus says it was due Friday at 5pm.
Whatever, I'm done now. I hope I get an A. I got a B on the last one. I tried to incorporate all aspects of the question/prompt on the dance page, so hopefully it'll be good.
So I'm waiting for Danny to get home. He had to work today; usually he's off on Sundays, but today was the release of Mario Kart. Speaking of which, I should play that until he gets home. And I need to remember to print out my lab for tomorrow morning. At least Thursday I get to pick out my schedule for next semester. That'll be a relief to have set out.
Work today pretty much sucked. Lydia elected not to show up -- again, apparently. Yesterday she called ten minutes before she was supposed to come in (Bre reported to me, since I wasn't there) to ask when she was supposed to work, and when Bre told her, she huffed and hung up... and never showed up, never called back, nothing. Today she didn't call at all. She's so fired. Anyway, somebody from Langley Park came to cover her shift, but she didn't get there for almost three hours after Lydia was due to start... and then I was supposed to skip my lunch and leave a half hour early, but I ended up skipping my lunch and staying fifteen minutes late. I guess it's okay. It's more hours.
So I'll go. I need to brush my teeth.