Nondescript Tennis Shoes

What if you..

Margaret — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 00:20:53 +0000

Somehow he had ending up by her. Squished beside her in the wooden booth while the entire room talked around them. He supposed it had to do with longing glances across the room, a little bit of luck (which the world had very little of) and a specific manoeuvere through the throng people when everyone had risen.

He was pressed against the wall and her left side. He had leisurely draped his right arm across the wooden back. They had both rotated slight towards the speaker and she had sunk underneath his arm. Most of this was because of the crowed room, but partially because of almost spoken words that lingered on his lips. He brought them back as his tongue flickered across them. He could feel his heartbeat on his skin and was surprised to see her cheekbones and collarbones flushed with a rosy pink. He hadn’t drunk anything but still felt tipsy and giddy and raw and confident as she blushed there next to him.

Her palms were turned towards each other and rested on her knees. No one could see and he imagined that her heart was scuttling and quivering like his own. His left hand crept to her wrist and he placed his fingers underneath her wrist with his thumb resting on the outside against the bone. His skin was brushing lightly on hers and so he watched her response intently. He was shocked to feel her shiver slightly and her skin became a brighter shade of pink. Her ears became red and he knew they were tingling and burning. The corners of her mouth turned up. He was about to lean towards her blushing ear and whisper something to cool her flustered skin with his breath when she turned her palm towards his. He slipped his four fingers into her palm and let them rest gently in her grasp.

happy endings.

Margaret — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 01:18:45 +0000

This is the way we love, like it’s forever. Then live the rest of our lives but not together.

His hand closed gently on her wrist. She blushed as she smiled at him. Even something as innocent as the light contact of his skin on hers made her skin tingle, like Boston or Romeo and Juliet. She had never been a fan of fairy tales, perfect stories, true love. Midsummer nights attracted her more.

He had mumbled something. Not mumbled persay, but it was some meaningless chatter that fills up every cubic meter of air around the campus. She acknowedged it in some equally meaningless fashion. He bade farewell in less words and turned to leave.

We’ll always have Paris.

They we seeing each other, not in the lusty, passionate, carnal sense. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t lusty or passionate. It was only expressed the the longing furtive glances aross a room or a peek from beneath heavy eyelashes. She wasn’t so sure how it had come about. The pair was not well acquainted. Neither was sure that the other knew their name.

It had started on a warm spring-like day, despite that it was still in the darkest days of winter. Their eyes had connected and contiuned to do so. Each blushing and turning a cheek when it was his or her turn to do so. However whenever a distance of under a meter came about neither could so much as look at the other. Mumbled words might be exchanged and clumsy brushing of hands or a slight twinge of a smile.

Two.

Margaret — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 04:32:44 +0000

The air was salty, tangy, and crisp. It flicked tendrils of fabric around her knees. The cloth was slightly silky, but it held nothing to twilight. The heels she wore were highly impractical, but the stars were of the utmost importance. She felt like a pearl diver, dragging all the air she could to fill her empty lungs. No matter what size a draught of sea air she took it never choked her, or caught on an imperfection.

The fabric whipped into frenzy as a new wave appeared. It crashed around her and strands of hair escaped their loose bonds. The soft fading light glazed her skin with the sunset. Closing her eyes she tilted her head to the sky. She flung out her arms to embrace the emerging stars and bounded towards the edge of the cliff, discarding her shoes in the leap. She yearned to rip the irrelevant dress from her skin. She wanted to leap the rest of the way and dive into the black water below.

Arms wrapped around her waist and held her tightly away from the cliff edge. She hadn’t struggled, and she didn’t insist that she wouldn’t jump. Leaning her head back, she found lips on her neck. Peering through her eye lashes she discovered the dark blue of sky half covered with stars. She took a long breath, exhaled, and laughed with the stars.

One.

Margaret — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 04:03:54 +0000

He leapt from the windowsill when she came to the door. He sprawled across the patch of sun from through the door frame as she struggled with her bags. When she returned to stare at empty staircase he twined around her legs. His purr rumbled through the square of early morning sunshine. She smiled down at him. As she scooped him into her arms, she kissed his nose. Scratching his ears she let the soft roar reverberate through the empty space.

She sighed and ignored the dusting of orange fur that was gathering on her clothes. She pulled the door shut, blocking that final sliver of light from the carpet. She supposed that he would regret it later. She could no longer beg for his attention, kiss his eyelids, and sleep in his arms. But when he would re-read the letter on the counter, bite his lip and hope he had made the right choice he might find some clarity. She finished pulling her luggage into the trunk and closed the taxi door behind her. The overgrown kitten was still rumbling a lion’s purr. She lifted her fingers to bid the house farewell and tugged a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

She glanced back towards the cat and stroked his belly. ‘Ciao’ she whispered and smiled down at him.

For Kami.

Margaret — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 15:52:16 +0000

” And what would you do?”

I turned to him ana smiled. Perhaps ‘grinned’ or ‘smirked’ would be more appropriate. It was somewhat coy, and I titled my head as I looked at him.

I wasn’t completely sure where we were, but he reached across the distance between us, slipped his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me to him.

I thought he would kiss me. Maybe crush his lips against mine and steal it for himself.

He didn’t. I expected it, wanted it even. Instead he kissed my cheek and my lips pressed against the crook of his neck. He released me and I believe I fluttered like a leaf in an Autumn wind. The quivering shaking that occurs right before it breaks from the stem and floats through the air.

He smiled. It was sweet, yet held an undertone of masculin power. As if he had deliberately spared me.

It was more unexpected than being pinned and trapped. I suppose he had caged me anyway. The way he was watching me was enough to make me follow him, trust him, let myself be almost kissed.

He had not trapped me physically. Every little flirting smile, witty response, and half jested banter had woven stronger arms around me. They pulled me against his chest and gave him the power to decide whether to kiss my cheek, or lips, or neck.

I was not incredibly upset about this.

a bird she found in the snow.

Margaret — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 04:09:55 +0000

It wasn’t really him. She knew it because she knew no teacher had really died and these brick walls weren’t that high in reality. She liked to pretend it was. He still didn’t have a cocky swagger. Still just a little depressed and slightly hunched. But in that moment all the unsureness and cynicism faded. It was replaced by an overwhelming confident, slightly angry, forceful being who had pinned her on real bricks.

That moment was real. Barely inches from her and he could speak, without any hesitation, looking at her eyes instead of his shoes. ‘You have to believe me.’

She could hardly keep her chin up. Unable to watch his face she looked past him and watched a sea of timeless students stream unceasingly past them.

She supposed that was when he realized exactly how close they were. The last remnants of the crowd lingered on the edges of her vision and as they swept away she was pulled from his grasp.

She wondered what would have happened if she could have stayed. Had she kept her position in his arms beside an incriminating piece of art would he have kissed her?

The light wants you.

Margaret — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 04:33:53 +0000

Somedays I feel the entire universe breathe a purpose into me. I don’t know what it is yet. I have no idea. I wonder and wander hopelessly. I want to write but have nothing new to write. It is all searching and discontentedness and tiredness. I want the universe to breathe into me again.

I want to find it. I need to find my purpose. Or find how to be content simply searching for it.

I read Frost this morning.

I rediscovered a poem which already resides on a page of mine. I had forgotten what it means. I used to be able to recite it.

I feel inadaquate for whatever use the universe has for me. How can I be responsible for it when I don’t know what it is? I want to know. I want to start. I want to help. I want to try and change things and try my damnedest before I become too cynical to care.

I want to dance. But no dancers.

I won’t let them take you. Hell no, no, no.

Margaret — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 04:09:37 +0000

Your inky fingertips pressing themselves into my skin create chills up my spine. They don’t travel down, the chills, they reach my head and linger. Clouding my head with silly fantasies. Either school-girl or future, the ink tasted like cherries on my lips and it made them fade, blend, become vague with the passing of time.

I paid my time. Attempted to, at least. It started out with a kiss. A dreamt one. I wished for it, and I wanted it and it happened.

It hurts when they are only dreams.

Your fingertips. Your hands. It’s not just some petty release. I need the company.

Time. I need time. Time for you to realize that she may be beautiful and perfect but I am no less. I dreamt it once. I must have, the time stamp implies so, and I rememeber the dream I wrote after. Time for me to find you. But true love and lilies are not what souls find when trapped in bodies far younger than what is meant.

Tracing lazy circles in the sky with inky fingertips. Would you lay here? Would you lie with me and just forget the world, rememeber that I am your everything, your only thing?

It could just be this life. I feel in this life it is my time to find that soul which is meant for mine. I could be mistaken. It could be young, earth idealism that pollutes my brain and makes me giddy. Wasting time.

The stars collide and I miss jupiter and yellow. In several years I will have forgotten how I wrote about the worn seams of a shirt that means so much. I will have forgotten what yellow means. I hope he won’t.

Inky fingertips and lazy brains. Tired hearts and worn, fraying souls. Kiss me under the cherry tree and tell me this is real. Make me believe this is real not just another one of my silly school-girl fantasies from a life I used to live.

Cherry trees, ice tracks, and a whisper of silk in the night air. Steaming breath from creatures that remind me of horses and I wonder where in my past I committed the crime that lead me to the punishment of being a mortal, frail human. When did I leave my home and become imprisioned here? Why, what, and where am I to find my answers? I see the beauty, I feel the beauty. Maybe I cannot see it in the glass.

Shatters,

I know what I want…

Margaret — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 16:10:54 +0000

I want you.

If only if only life was a movie.

Are we human, or are we dancer?

Margaret — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 04:26:02 +0000

She had written this dream of calloused palms drawing her in, similar to the pull of gravity between the moon and the earth. He would relate her to the sun, not the reflected light of the sun off the moon. She would relate him to the rough, ragged, idealistic form of the earth.

She wanted to be his universe, his world, his earth, his everything. She was chocolate on his fingertips which melted on his tounge and traced little dark smears across his lips. She was his cosmos. His everything and more. More than everything exactly. She reminded him of a cherry tree after they jumped the fence. It was a mixture of blackberries, warmed slightly from the spring sun, and cherries. Tarness lingered on their lips. The taste of her lips was on his and he could taste the beginning of summer in her.

She was pressed against the trunk of the tree and he could hardly keep from kissing her.

She was everything more than everything. She was all these stars in the night sky. The moon in the fullest part of the sky. Jupiter hanging with moons. She was all of him. All cherries and blackberries with a hint, a whisper, a wish of rasberries painted on fresh lips.

She was everything, and she couldn’t be anything without him.