Life is

SO

Precious.

Moments turn into memories

& I am @ peace.

Feelings come & go like

seasons

& each season seems to become

Better.

Better than the last.

I look down and feel him there,

Fingers interlaced.

The way he holds me with care,

With him I am safe.

Rough calluses touching my delicate hand,

Tracing down my wrist to my arm.

I hope that he can one day understand,

With him I don't feel alarmed.

No fear, just bliss,

As he lifts my hand up and gives it a kiss.

I love to read stories of far away lands and creatures that I'll only see in my head. The ways that these characters can make me feel happiness and sadness, hope and despair. Once I put those books down, I often find that I create plots in the story to keep it going. Allow the characters to live on in my head a little longer.

But what if I could create my own world. My own stories and characters. What kind of adventures would they go on? Would any reader enjoy the characters that I pluck from pieces of me? How would I even begin?

I think I would transport the audience into a mystical land. Fill the scene with memories of my favorite places in nature. The cool, crisp mornings I remember waking up against a lake during a camping trip. The way the willow trees allowed the morning sun to cascade through their leaves, onto the body of water, looking like pure magic kissed the earth. Moments like that. But I'd much rather picture it in my mind than explain it. Because how could I ever explain such a perfect moment that others will understand the ways I've felt and want to feel again?

I'd want my story to be magical and enchanting.

Have little fae creatures running around. People with wings and powers beyond the bounds of THIS world. A place where the drama that arises leads to adventures. Where the mundane tasks of this reality are nowhere to be found. A place to escape.

Maybe one day I'll start my book. With no idea as to where it goes. Just let my fingers type and maybe it'll write itself. Or maybe it'll be a hope, an ambition that dies with me. Then no one will get to travel to the fantastical lands within my mind.

It's in the Summer that I love the hardest.

My heart is full and untamed, like a child excited to see the world.

The love that I give is pure and it's sweet.

Innocent yet devilish.

Intoxicating.

I fill my days basking in liquid gold and the nights with sweet kisses from jasmine scented winds floating through my bedroom window.

Lighting candles with intent as the roaring of my fan combats the sound of whatever record I have playing for the evening.

I welcome the warm sand between my toes, no matter how cliche it is, as I dance in the waves of the ocean and ride down the coast chasing after the sun.

My hair is wild and free flowing, like the love pouring out my heart.

The stars fall down and brush my cheeks as the summer warmth inspires me to dance around campfires and I never wish to sleep.

I am my favorite self in the summer.

In the summer I am free.

the way you ignore me

or prentend im not there.

its unfair.

the way you go behind my back

or pretend that i don’t care.

its unfair.

soon you’ll learn your lesson

how your actions create wear.

it will become fair.

its fair.

I hope I’ll still be happy.

I have dreams and want to be performing,

On broadway or on tour or maybe TV.

But if my dream doesn’t happen I just wish to be happy.

Happiness helps life continue.

I hope to be helping others and making them happy.

It’s too risky to dream or play it too safe,

I just hope I make the right decision,

One day.

The lights flicker red and white,

We all know it’s Santa’s big night.

But the lights aren’t hung on a house or a tree,

They’re from the cars driving on Christmas Eve.

There isn’t any snow on the 405 tonight,

Theres lots of locals saying ‘this traffic is light’.

Presents are ready under the tree,

The weather doesn’t touch less than 55°.

It’s Santa’s big night and he fills up his sack,

He hops on his slay and puts it over his back.

He fills it up high with lots of fun toys,

To bring to each house for the good girls and boys.

Love is turning off all the lights before I go to bed because my mom always forgets.

Or maybe she’s just so used to me turning them off that she doesn’t think to do it anymore.

In the morning she wakes up before me and turns on my bathroom and bedroom light.

She‘ll occasionally say ‘thank you’ for turning off the lights that night.

I know it’s not huge or irregular.

But it’s the little things like this that tell my mom I love her, as she does it in return.