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Showing posts from February, 2016

Real flowers don't come back to life whenever you remember to water them.

He has a rose, on a green vase on the window sill. A bright and healthy rose that makes his mundane life seem more cheerful.

He cares for it everyday. He pays attention to every single petal and gently waters it when needed. And the rose smells nice. And the room is beautiful.

But days go by and the rose is not a novelty anymore. It has lost it's excitement and become part of the same mundane life. His life.

He forgets about the plant on the window sill. He doesn't water it often. He doesn't pay attention to the petals turning a sad brown on the edges.

He doesn't notice that the pretty rose is slowly losing it's life. Part of his life. And soon the window sill will be empty and cold. There will be no reason for him to open the dark curtain and let the sun in.

For his forgotten rose will be dead. And his room will be lifeless again.

The beautiful boring kind of story

We are.

That's all. That's the story. We simply are.

We are late nights cuddled up talking rubbish. Nothing of the deep intellectual kind. Something easy, simple, boring... not frightening.

We are mornings, wrapped up in sunshine warmth, too lazy to get out of bed. We are hangover afternoons once we stop being drunken nights, so often. We are bad jokes and cringey attempts at romance. We're less romance, more... boring. The beautiful kind of boring.

We are lessons learnt... actually learnt... with books and all, over long hours in the library.  We are soft blankets and movies, and a pair of glasses. Funny hats and borrowed hoodies. We are two am takeaways. Fattening. Fulfilling. Out of our time.

We are sleepy smiles at the best times and minute long arguments over many nothings at worst. We are relentless. The energy drink of course. I shall stick loyally to this boring story.

We are somebody's friends, somebody's family, somebody's missed opportunity and what …

Hugs are terrifying.

Hugs are terrifying because they're nice and warm.

They're like soft blankets of affection and all things good. Hugs are like strawberries in summer and like hot chocolate on Christmas eve. They're like marshmallows softly sparkling up and melting in a camp fire.

Hugs are like your mother's hair on your face when she kissed you goodnight and her arms when you fell on them as you were taking your first steps. Hugs are like your father's hands lifting you up when you were crying.

Therefore, hugs are terrifying.

Because your mother's hair will be far from your face one day and her arms won't be able to stretch through the distance and catch you every time you're falling. Your father's hands won't lift you up when you're heavy and strawberries won't taste as sweet when they're frozen. Hot chocolate will spill and ruin the book you're reading. Camp fires, will burn a forest.

Hugs are terrifying.

Vulnerable and melting like a mars…