Moustaches are Cool

Ta-Dah!

So there it is! Two assignments done! Poof! Magic! Thirteen writing pieces for your enjoyment!

That is what my brain is doing. I only have, like, two more assignments to do!

Cue twelve more happy dance pictures, then, adios amigos!

Well, I might use this blog in the future, but I don't know... In the meantime:

Peace out, awesome people!

The Rose

From far away you cannot see

The park

The snow

The bench.

The world seems so blank,

Like a canvas yet untouched by paint,

Lying in wait for its splash of color.

The world is white.

But-

If you get closer,

You will see

That

In the middle of the bench

There is a rose.

The single

Red

Rose

Bathes the white world in all of its glory.

And the one girl

Who had a terrible night

And who woke up with a sadness in her heart that seemed too big to bear-

It is she who will find the rose.

She will pick it up

And smell it

And press it to her chest.

In this white world,

Someone left a rose for her to find.

She knows not who,

Or why,

Only that the rose has changed her day.

And so,

She will place it back down and

Walk

Off,

Leaving the kindness of a

Single

Red

Rose

To comfort others in this canvas of a world.

The Most Mature Thing I've Ever Written.... not.

I am not dotty

Nor am I haughty

I just wish to god

I wasn’t your potty.

Frozen

“You want to take some-“ She stopped for a second, took a deep breath and continued, willing her voice to not rise an octave, “time… apart?”

Silence filled the room, lying on top of the already frigid atmosphere. He forgot to turn on the heater again, She thought. Typical. Now we’re both going to freeze to death.

“I think it would be a good thing.”

He took his arm from where it had been resting on her shoulders and moved further away on their light blue couch. The lady at the store had called the color ICE. It sure felt like ice today. Without His warmth She started to fear that She’d freeze to the couch and no longer be able to run from the room in tears, as She’d been planning to do as an end to the conversation. Now not only would the running turn into a strangled attempt to unstick herself, but the tears would freeze on her face.

“Why?” She asked, shivering.

He stood up, walked to the mantle and picked up a snow globe. That one they’d gotten on their trip to Chile. He’d bought it in the store the night the blizzard hit. Inside there were two people kissing. She’d always worried that they wouldn’t like being stuck in a tiny room, constantly stared at by other people. Maybe they didn’t even like each other anymore, but they were stuck in a moment that everyone dreamed of, frozen to each other by the mouth during a snow storm. He always made fun of her when She brought stuff like that up. She had always been the sensitive, caring one. He was taciturn. He froze her out when He couldn’t deal with his emotions. Sometimes She wondered if He felt like He was in the snow globe, kissing forever a woman in a little glass ball, unable to get unstuck and out.

She shivered again. They’d been together for seven years. What on earth could make him want to get out of their perfect little snow globe? Except for the freezing part. She could definitely understand if He wanted to get into a warmer glass ball. She’d pay lots of money to be in Hawaii right that second. But it couldn’t be that bad. He just wanted time. Nothing that bad would happen-

“I’m not in love with you anymore. I don’t know if I ever was.”

She froze.

I Apologize Most Profusely

I’m sorry.

I apologize.

I am wrenched with remorse.

My emotions bubble and boil with the extent of my act of contrition.

My regret knows no bounds, along with my overwhelming urge to never stop apologizing.

I can never forgive myself.

The thought is unthinkable.

I’m sorry I even mentioned it in the first place,

Because that means I thought it,

Which makes the unthinkable thing…

Thinkable.

Seriously, though.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to eat your jam.

It looked nice

And I didn’t think you wanted it.

So I ate it.

With an English muffin.

Which is a tasty combination.

But I am still prostrate with repentance and sorrow.

As should all people be who darest consumeth thine holy pot of delicious jam.

A sin for which I am eternally and perpetually submissive and considered a worthless human being.

What?

No!

I’m not making fun of your idiotic raging at all.

I’d never do that.

Ever.

Never ever.

Well, maybe sometimes.

But you have to admit, I did a pretty good job of it.

A real apology?

I’m not really all that sorry.

The jam was delicious

And ran down my throat like golden honey.

It tasted of strawberries and sunshine,

A beautiful face on a summer’s day,

That time when I spent ten minutes apologizing for something unbelievably stupid

And enjoyed every minute of the increasingly eloquent and expressive expression of regret.

Yup.

It tasted of overwhelming awesome.

So I’m

Not

Really

Sorry.

...