He tried swooping her off her feet,
like they do in all the movies.
But swooping isn’t easy, so it turned into
more of a stumble.
Like he tried to lift, but didn’t put his back into it,
or like her dress got stuck on the handle of the dresser.
Like he hesitated a second too long,
or like she made herself heavy, a child threatened with bed time.
But he tried and tried again.
Until his arms, his back, his legs turned sore,
before she got a better idea.
Sheet music for Brahms Requiem and Mozart’s coronation mass. The Tardis box my best friend once painted me for Christmas. A kazoo (because why not) and an old harmonica. Dean’s 1967 Chevrolet Impala and a sonic screwdriver. A beautifully painted, golden Venetian mask, to remember an enchanting holiday. Pictures of people I love and secrets I keep for people I once loved. Remnants of what has been and of what I one day want to be. Examples of things I’m proud of and of things that I’ve achieved. Plus my beautiful books. Or you know, those that could fit.
“No no no, that won’t do” his slightly inebriated voice scolds her but she has never felt less guilty of a crime in her life time. “Did you just abandon your tea cup?” He looks genuinely hurt, “Imagine how it must feel!” He shakes his head at her. “Here it was, getting pumped and ready for the only thing it would ever successfully achieve in its short life,” he grabs the cup with both hands and falls to his knees, “and you deny it this one, single pleasure?” His lower lip shakes as he gets to his feet and staggers to her tiny uni ensuite. “Shame on you,” he says, staring fiercely into her eyes as he slowly pours the tea down the sink. She chuckles. He’ll get over it.
Have you ever looked at someone you know really well and suddenly realised how beautiful they are? Noticed things you’ve never seen before; like how they hold themselves, or that one little hand motion when they can’t find the right word? That amazing laugh that you’ve heard so many times that you’re taking it for granted? The way their clothes can tell you exactly what they were thinking whilst getting dressed that morning, and how they take their coffee? How their eyes crinkle mischievously as they plan some sort of revenge for that thing you did a very long time ago and the wide grin after a bad joke? I’m the worst at actually seeing the people that are close to me, but when I do? Wow.
Someone should invent a perfume that smells like dew drops on grass after that first night of frost. A perfume that smells like winter’s first day; the crisp air that crackles with ecstatic cold, freshly fallen snow and frost roses on the corners of windows. A perfume that smells like the first time you tried your skies on and the sound of dry, powdery snow under your shoes. It’s on days like today, when the cold bites at exposed cheeks and creates cracks in dry hands, and the rain sneaks inside your jacket and covers your glasses, that the smell of that first day of winter suddenly seems very far away. If this perfume existed, I bet it would smell like the fairy tales we were told in front of fireplaces as children. And yes, I would wear it.
Picnics are one of those things that we don’t do nearly enough. Even though there are lots of parks and we all love food, we never actually fill a basket to the brim with strawberries and sandwiches and sparkly drinks. But that day last summer, we certainly did. Spontaneously we gathered all of our blankets and poured wine in plastic cups. We armed ourselves with sunglasses in front of eyes and sunscreen on noses, before we braved the green outside. Now, stuck in my room during late winter, I look back and think that this is what summer is about.
When asked about my favourite season, I wouldn’t say summer, even though I adore the lazy nights of July when the sun never sets and shoes are no longer a necessity. I wouldn’t say autumn either, even though I love the feeling of burying my face in the biggest scarf from this season’s new collection and how the colours change from green to auburn. I also wouldn’t say winter, even though it makes me indescribably happy when snow starts to fall from the clouds like dizzy ballerinas and the Christmas lights are being lit all over the world. No, I will always say spring, because of the soft light that’s reserved for April only, that gently knocks on your window and reminds you that it’s never too late for new beginnings.
About being who you are, and about accepting others. About love and trust and how to cook the perfect bowl of noodles. I’ve learnt that not everything is as it seems at first, but that’s okay, because the unexpected can turn out just fine. That there’s nothing wrong with making mistakes as long as you apologise and try again, and that people generally want you to be happy because everyone else is also just trying to get by with what they’re given. It has shown me that friendship, love and working together are important factors to success. That even though hot chocolate can’t mend a broken heart or un-shrink a woollen jumper which you happened to wash at 60 degrees, the people that make said chocolate for you can. And these people are what’s important. That’s what uni’s taught me. Oh yeah, and a bit of creative writing on the side.
… so we did. Imagine 300 third graders running around school in random costumes. One girl introduced herself as a lamp shade, another said she was rock ‘n’ roll. Someone had dressed up as the Yggdrassil-tree from norse mythology and one had just decided to go full out emo that day. None of the teachers could keep a straight face while looking out at the crowd of colourful and strange students, and you could just see in their eyes that they were so ready for this day to be over. It was fun though, 10/10 would recomend.
17th of May 2015. We celebrated like only 19 year olds with nothing left to loose can. This day marked the end of our month-long celebration, a month of bad decisions and good memories. In the wee hours of the morning we ended up on my sofa, exhausted from the lack of sleep, but all smiles and laughter, running on determination, alcohol and scrambled eggs. Waving our red, white and blue flags and donning “graduates’ uniforms”, ready to take over the world. And take over the world we would. We just needed some sleep first.