Literary Teardrops

Maybe I like words because they blend in.

A work of art stands out; it’s colorful and beautiful and pretty.

I wrote a ten-page paper on the importance of art and did not once mention my love for the written word. In fact, I bashed my immense appreciation for language in order to promote the stroke of a brush.

Because I care about you.

I do. And I want you to know. But you would never use your talent to promote mine. You’d never portray the significance of a few strung together letters in order to make me feel, even for a second, like you don’t cringe at the thought of reading.

Appreciate me.

Appreciate me, and every metaphorical sacrifice I’ve made for you. It took me one day to decide my topic and two weeks to finish writing—about art.

But you.

You’ve had my book, my favorite book, or one of, for so long, for two months. You’ve held those words and that story hostage in your locker to collect dust just because I was stupid enough to think you’d want to share in my fictional wonderland. I was wrong, but I’m not sorry.

Not again.

I’ll throw these filled pages at your feet and hope the letters fly and hope the ink smudges on your too worn out shoes and maybe it will stain,

Because nothing else I’ve ever said has.

We Are Far Too Young and Clever

The minute I saw her and spoke to her, that's the minute I knew that she understood. She understood, on some deeper level, everything about me. And maybe she really didn't, but it sure felt like it.

I played that song for you in the car and you still didn't get it.

The very first chords thumped and we knew. I shot her a look and she grabbed my hand and we flew to the dancefloor.

Lights flashed, my face burned from the grins, and the room shrunk to fit just us and Dexy's Midnight Runners.

I don't know these people's names.

I like them.

I'm letting go.

Is this how Sam felt?

But she is fiction.

I am real, this is how I feel.

Right now.

I can feel those once awful memories attached to each note slip away into nothingness, and all that matters right now is the Living Room Routine and this girl who understands and these people I don't know but I wish I did.

Tuu rah loo rah tuu rah loo rah yay

We are spinning around. We lose ourselves. We slow down in time with the music and then speed back up, singing at the top of our lungs, not even caring that we sound horrible and our voices will be gone by the morning. My feet hurt from jumping and in one second, my hands are taken and we are running in a circle, flying and laughing and forgetting about everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This song, this book, used to hurt me. It used to bring me down and make me speculate things that did not need to be speculated. But after that, after that frozen moment, something clicked. I'm building myself back up. I know who I am, and I'm embracing every part of me.

Whoever Eileen is, thank you for inspiring a timeless song and, ultimately, inspiring me.