So, I've got no real plan of where this post is going, but I want to write. So, here I go.
Next week is homecoming week. Like any girl, I just couldn't resist posting a picture of my dress. (I got it at a garage sale and it fits perfectly, YEAH)
Now now, don't peg me as a girly-girl. It's my pet-peeve. But recently I've been buying dresses and stuff, and I realized that it's not that bad. So, that's a little sneak peek into my life.
I've decided this post will be for a little story I wrote. Here we go.
"Bookstore"
I walk into the store from the chilled December air, the warm scent of old books wafting around, curling the corners of my lips like the corners of old pages. My emerald green eyes sift through the spines of hundreds of tomes. I float on the promise of stories and happily-ever-afters to my favorite section, Poetry. I've been to this little shop a hundred times, and every Wednesday at six, the boy with the pretty smile is there. I've never talked to him directly, but I see his cerulean eyes caress the rhymes and meters on the page behind his thin glasses as if he was holding a lover. I've never wanted so much to be words on a page, so that he could treasure me as much as he does Poe, Shakespeare, or Dickinson. Today, though, he's standing upright without a book in his hand. His blue gaze is locked on me, and I've never been more terrified or exhilarated. This moment is far better than any romance novel could have dreamt up for me. My mind is brimming with thousands of ways this could turn out, thousands of timelines with thousands of words said and unsaid. He licks his lips nervously, even though he has no reason to be anything but confident. "Hello," he says. His voice is rich and sweet, and I would listen to it on repeat for the rest of my life, just that one word. One word has never meant so much to me. "My name is Michael." Michael. A handsome name for a handsome boy. "Aria," I manage to sputter out, sounding surprisingly sure of myself. He grins as if he's received a gift he's waited years for. "Would you like to get some coffee at that little cafe down the street sometime, Aria?" My heart pounds against my chest, screaming to be released. I nod, my smile growing wider with each passing breath. "Well... How about now?" he asks, adorable blue eyes begging at me from under a curtain of jet-colored locks. "I... I have something for you, first." He reaches out his hand to me, and my mind is struck with the simple beauty of this act. His elegant fingers that suggest years of turning pages are curled tightly around a small book. The extended arm is a question, one I gladly answer with my own trembling hand. If he notices, he doesn't say. I gently pluck the gift from his hand, and my breath catches as I read the title. It's the book I had picked up last Wednesday and gazed longingly at. My college-student funds left much to be desired, and I spend most of my extra finances on works of literature. "Thank you, so much," I breathe. "Seriously, I... Thank you." His lips grin crookedly, and my heart stutters. "You're welcome, I saw you looking at it, and I had a little extra, and it's almost Christmas, so... Merry Christmas. Now, would you accompany me to Starbucks?" "Indeed I will, Michael. Let's go," I prompt excitedly as I stroll into the freezing, snow-scarred wind, the warmth in my cheeks and the unexpected company keeping me safe.
Next week is homecoming week. Like any girl, I just couldn't resist posting a picture of my dress. (I got it at a garage sale and it fits perfectly, YEAH)
Now now, don't peg me as a girly-girl. It's my pet-peeve. But recently I've been buying dresses and stuff, and I realized that it's not that bad. So, that's a little sneak peek into my life.
I've decided this post will be for a little story I wrote. Here we go.
"Bookstore"
I walk into the store from the chilled December air, the warm scent of old books wafting around, curling the corners of my lips like the corners of old pages. My emerald green eyes sift through the spines of hundreds of tomes. I float on the promise of stories and happily-ever-afters to my favorite section, Poetry. I've been to this little shop a hundred times, and every Wednesday at six, the boy with the pretty smile is there. I've never talked to him directly, but I see his cerulean eyes caress the rhymes and meters on the page behind his thin glasses as if he was holding a lover. I've never wanted so much to be words on a page, so that he could treasure me as much as he does Poe, Shakespeare, or Dickinson. Today, though, he's standing upright without a book in his hand. His blue gaze is locked on me, and I've never been more terrified or exhilarated. This moment is far better than any romance novel could have dreamt up for me. My mind is brimming with thousands of ways this could turn out, thousands of timelines with thousands of words said and unsaid. He licks his lips nervously, even though he has no reason to be anything but confident. "Hello," he says. His voice is rich and sweet, and I would listen to it on repeat for the rest of my life, just that one word. One word has never meant so much to me. "My name is Michael." Michael. A handsome name for a handsome boy. "Aria," I manage to sputter out, sounding surprisingly sure of myself. He grins as if he's received a gift he's waited years for. "Would you like to get some coffee at that little cafe down the street sometime, Aria?" My heart pounds against my chest, screaming to be released. I nod, my smile growing wider with each passing breath. "Well... How about now?" he asks, adorable blue eyes begging at me from under a curtain of jet-colored locks. "I... I have something for you, first." He reaches out his hand to me, and my mind is struck with the simple beauty of this act. His elegant fingers that suggest years of turning pages are curled tightly around a small book. The extended arm is a question, one I gladly answer with my own trembling hand. If he notices, he doesn't say. I gently pluck the gift from his hand, and my breath catches as I read the title. It's the book I had picked up last Wednesday and gazed longingly at. My college-student funds left much to be desired, and I spend most of my extra finances on works of literature. "Thank you, so much," I breathe. "Seriously, I... Thank you." His lips grin crookedly, and my heart stutters. "You're welcome, I saw you looking at it, and I had a little extra, and it's almost Christmas, so... Merry Christmas. Now, would you accompany me to Starbucks?" "Indeed I will, Michael. Let's go," I prompt excitedly as I stroll into the freezing, snow-scarred wind, the warmth in my cheeks and the unexpected company keeping me safe.
