Grace in Your Heart & Flowers in Your Hair

Restless nights spent thinking about things I've never held in my own two hands.  Things I can explain in pretty words and flowing manuscript, but can never quite grasp when it's time to.  There's just so many beautiful things around me that I want to capture somehow, through a lens, through a microscope, through a window's reflection, through a momentary blip of happiness on the radar scale of a life.  But for now I'll just write about them, I'll pencil my thoughts and bound them tight then pack them away neatly in a cupboard above the dresser where nobody can reach them but me.

I want... something pretty.  A hand to hold and lips to kiss my palms and wrists to bump together sitting cross legged on the grass outside of an apartment building older than my country, simply watching the sun set.  An arm to link and sway with the breeze as we walk side by side through a tiny town on the coast of wherever we find ourselves at present moment.  A shoulder to fall asleep on on the train after a long day, the puzzle piece that melds so well with the curvature of my face that I can't help but think it might have been in the cards for me to leave a makeup stain on your work shirt this evening.  And a pair of strong shoulder blades, but not too strong to accept an invitation from my palms to erase whatever made you worried today.  A neck to kiss from behind when my legs are wrapped around your waist and I'm yelling about whatever team and whatever score and whatever I do that makes you smile when we go to matches together and I can't see over the crowd.  A waist to wrap my arms around and never let go, no matter the struggle.  I want... something real.  I'm in no hurry, I'm just exercising the only talent I have when it comes to love: writing someone else's story.

Soundtrack:
Johnny Flynn - The Box

& lots of Mumford & Sons, probably too much to be perfectly honest.