Since I was a young child,
filled with nighttime fears
of monsters under beds
and creatures hiding in closets,
I avoid
looking
  in
   mirrors
    because
     one
      time
       my
        reflection
         looked
          back.

Love, she learns at a young, is her first disappointment. Her heart is bigger than her body and her logic smaller than her brain. She falls in love fast and easily with the world around her and doesn't understand how fast she can fall apart.
She grows to give and never take but forgets to set away some things for her. People, she realizes as she stand empty handed, are as greedy as they are needy.
And now that she's empty, that she has nothing left to offer, she tucks her heart away and is left forgotten.

I used to think that blue eyes were pretentious. I used to think that everyone with blue eyes somehow thought they were better than plain old me, with brown eyes and brown hair.

Shallow, right?

And then I met you, and for some reason, blue eyes were much less pretentious, and blue became my favorite color. Blue felt like home when mine was breaking. Blue felt like home when I didn't have one.

Hopeless, right?

But I've always been shy, and when I went through a phase of questioning myself and who I was, I didn't dare risk reaching out to you, out of fear you wouldn't really care. I ended up in a lot of bad situations, all of which I survived. I have the scars to prove it.

Foolish, right?

And I guess, in a vulnerable state in which I was afraid to be alone, I made another bad decision, and this decision was, just like before, a person. He brought out the worst in me, and I him. I thought his blue eyes could be a nice home too. Not the same way yours were. The way a desperate person takes shelter in a storm. But he was the storm, and I was collateral damage. I guess I thought I could make a home out of shrapnel.

Naïve, right?

I used to believe in meant to be. I used to believe in destiny, and true love, and red strings of fate. I stopped believing in that, for awhile. I went on various dates, with men who were nice and friendly. But upon telling them I couldn't go on dates with them anymore, because I wasn't ready to be with anyone, in any capacity, they stopped talking to me. It was foolish of me to think I was more than a chance at getting laid to them.

Gross, right?

And then we started talking again. And honestly, I didn't trust you at first. I wanted to, but I was scared. But when we met in person again, for the first time in seven years, I, slowly, started to believe again. And when you weren't paying attention, I'd steal glances at you, and even though I'd written off blue eyes, seeing the noon-sky and golden-sun within your iris's was almost too much. I felt at home, once more. And whether that was platonic or not didn't really matter. Because when you hugged me goodbye after I asked, I realized I loved you. And maybe I'd never really stopped.

Romantic, right?

I used to think blue eyes were overrated. I used to think I wasn't meant to be with anyone. I used to not believe in true love. It's funny, because now we've been married since November. And now I can't imagine going a day without watching the smile on your lips touch your eyes. And now I can't imagine being with anyone else. And maybe fate isn't a thing. And maybe neither is destiny. And maybe there are no red strings of fate. But I know true love is real, because I love you more than I've loved anyone else, of any kind of love. And you're the person I'm going to love forever, the person I have loved forever.

But now I do believe that fate only brings us to do the things we would do anyway.

Because if I had to choose between fate and loving you, then I guess I don't have any guidance besides the blue of your eyes.

Corny, right?

With heartbreak and loss...
             does the Divine hear our thoughts?

Turning feathers, black and flickers,
spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning,

WHOOSH!

On hands, on knees,
wind, hair, cascade, face.
I cry out -hoary breath,
sobbing, tender, the freeze.

FUP-FUP-FUP

Painful sheering burning ice upon my forearms...
             to die is a warmth here.

Turning feathers, black and flickers,
spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning,

He lands and screeches,
talon'd feet below,
swaddling of wispy bandages
knees bent in reverse,
awkward pose o'er me
I look up and I see!

Turning feathers, black and flickers,
spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning,

Creature of arms species of wings, bandied, banded...
              almonded eyes so black, large, -peering.

FUP-FUP-FUP

It knows of pain.
To deliver me, -here.
...away from the world
I exist in short space,
I lean back my haunches,
expiate my yeornful heart!

Torn out but beating and in pain no more?
          I am leaving with this messenger...

Turning feathers, black and flickers,
spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning,

To the Van...
      to the van...

Turning feathers, black and flickers,
spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.

...spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.

...spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.

Hands in my pea coat pockets I shuffle down 8th avenue looking down. Whenever a pair of shoes that have seem to be worn in adventure passes I lift my head to stop them.
Excuse me, Excuse me.  I ask the intriguing shoes.
I’m either met with a puzzled look, an impatience look , or a sympathetic look. Sometimes there is a look of all three
Looking at the owner of said shoes I boldly ask,Do you have a story?
Here, I can usually guess their response based on one of the three looks they gave me.
A look of puzzled usually leads to more confusion on their face expressed in lines created in their face by a furrowed brow and scrunched nose.
A look of impatience usually leads to a *******, and a cold shoulder met with an even faster pace, or a phrase along the lines of ******, Freak and more ****** phrases that I’m sure you can guess. (My favorite so far has been ******, now that’s a story)
With a look of sympathy I’m sometimes given a quick sorry followed by a cold shoulder (see example 2), sometimes a Sorry, what? Due to their actual interest in what I have to say. These looks lead to the best stories.

One rainy day I was met with lady bug rain boots scuffed around the bottom, yet still shining a bright red that I guess wasn’t even that beautiful on the store shelf, and my guess a size 2. Looking up I find wide green eyes staring right back.
Now this was no look of the three I’ve experienced, it was a whole new look.
A look of curiosity, but not puzzled.
A look of eagerness, not impatient.
A look of care, not sympathy.
And so many more looks hidden in those big green eyes that seem to hold the world.

Though I was aware of the tiny feet, I was mildly surprise when I was met with those green eyes at an almost 2 foot level.

Excuse me, excuse me, Do you have a story?
The ladybug boots with green eyes smiled at me.
Everyone has a story, but I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you.

Another dab of red on her lip
A final spray of fragrance
Baubles cuffing her dainty wrists
And a spring in her step

She steps out and steps into the car
Their eyes meet, a sparkle across one of her 32
He nods with a giggle, "Finally, the day has arrived..."
Zestful fingers turn the key, the engine revs up

And like always, she completes his sentence
With a bright one across her face
"Yes, the day we set each other free."
And together they burst

While little Macy and Phillip
Make promises, young in love
From afar, below the cliff,
They see light shine so bright, like fire burst

And perhaps, they were only firecrackers
Thinks Phillip, his innocent mind
Unable to tell a blast from a burst
But Macy knows, for she caused the brakes to fail

Thunder, lightning and rain ceased.
They peeped out of a cave.
Bright sunlight flooded the earth,
air was cool and birds chirped.

As they came out a voice echoed in air,
‘O, my reflected souls,  
I've infused the nature in you
contain the flame of want and live blissfully.'

They were made of simplicity, love and trust.                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
So long they had no want.
There were plenty of fruits in the Garden,
a river quenched their thirst
birds and butterflies gave them company.
They lived here with toil, love and compassion.
                          
Winter came- everything turned white.
With white hunger they searched for food                
their need, reasoning and will,
gave birth to Satan,
who came forward and said,
'The Garden of Eden is for all.'
He took them to the other part of the Garden
where eternal spring reigned,
offered them the God's fruit with a smile.
The Age of want and logic began.

19th Dec.2016