- I have a few people on my list, whom with each status, make me wonder more and more why I’m their friend to begin with.

- Drama in my life is like puddles on the sidewalk, sometimes I can jump over them, and sometimes I sink ankle deep in them unintending.

- If I’m ever homeless, I’d like to at least be able to pull of the homeless look. I love hobo bags?

- Food in america is found in boxes, so are dead people. Connection?

- If I ask another question will this piece seem questionable? Do I care?

- I want a purple coat. I want it to hang in my closet, because considering Arizona weather, I surely will not be able to wear it.

- If my library card history, was my credit history, I would never get a loan from any bank.

- The show the Real Housewives makes me regret calling myself a woman. So does saying I’m from Scottsdale. Both are beautifully intertwined.

- Socks are nice, but only when they’re white. Which in my case, is usually rare.

- When I started typing this my nails were clear, now they’re bright red. Im such a whore for the color red.

- I enjoy the Bravo channel, when I feel like I lack a brain and personality of course.

- I’m going to go into the kitchen now, where a woman belongs. Yes, I just said that.

- Till next time, my sweet pink pebble lovers.

As in all ends, I find myself accompanied by the soul and mind.

Their voices are the notes to my paper and the lyrics to my song.

In an ironic sort of manner, the die hard romantic sits quietly alone.

The one always looking in the depths, wondering where their one lies.

I’ll reach, but only to a fingers tip do I arrive.

After so many years, I can’t even remember the feeling of you next to me.

I used to be able to close my eyes and be there, if only for a moment.

I suppose the wind of winter days takes with it the comfort of your embrace.

Remnants of love float through the fresh morning air as I smile towards the summer sun.

No longer do we run through the forests like in our youth, the cool air flowing through my long brown hair, your smile bringing me all the warmth I ever needed.

And yet, the years fly by.

Oh how they fly.

Our wrinkles deepen, and our souls weakin.

Yet, we smile in remniscence.

We’ll always be the hopeless romantics sitting quietly alone wondering where our one lies.

I miss you.

His lips made her a slave to his desire.

So devious, so confident, and so daring.

The position was hers. Never did she fall into the category of desiring until she met him.

A mind fuck all around, he took her strength and played with it like clay in a sculptors palm.

Her patience for him never ending, it was her suffering that made him ignite.

A youthful brunette she was, at the time, completely drowned with obsession.

Her intelligence resembled his, but never leveled to it fully.

Sitting there, for days she would wait for his reply, a minute passed as if an hour, constant questions, promises unkept, and lifeless breaths.

Her heart once loved.

The light in the hotel room dims, as she opens yet another bottle from the mini bar.

Grand Marnier slides her into the rarely visited memory crematorium.

Perhaps a desire to numb, or perhaps the desire to feel herself back in his arms, either way, her vulnerable side began to show.

Could she keep doing this?

Flashes of all the victims pass through her mind like drops in a rainstorm. 

Could she?

Of course she could.

It was the dear acquaintance of an asshole that pushed her to it in the first place.

She has always preferred ripping male flesh anyway.

The lamp dims to a darkness, and the hotel sheets wrap around her. 

Tomorrow’s mission is a long one indeed.

Indeed, a revelation bewilders me.

Perhaps I truly will always be the weird geeky girl.

I digress and continue to hum along to “Rasputin”.

If they put 80′s music on at a party, I will be the one dancing.

If you say you are doing something, and I disagree, I will most likely be very direct and tell you:
You are a complete idiot.

I won’t always agree with certain aspects of the american lifestyle and mentality.

In group projects, I will almost always just do the whole project to satisfy my pet peeve of selfish perfection.

I most likely won’t let you wash the dishes, because I will want them to be done by me.

I might not always dress according to the “what is cool” manual.

I will always prefer intriguing people instead of beautiful people.

When it comes to taste, in music, movies, and everything, I will always have an opinion.

When it comes to your ideas, thoughts, and everything, I always be curious to hear your perspective.

I might like cheesy glasses, and I certainly won’t always do as I am told.

But one thing is quite certain, and has come to me right this moment, I do realize, that
right now, in these days, months, years, I truly am finding myself.

I am becoming a person, with thoughts, and opinions, with style, and with flaws.

And it further alludes me that if a year ago, I knew who I was, what will I think in 5 years? Or 10? Will I be the same? Or will I constantly change my perspective?

These questions are killing me.

Damn you, person who invented the human mind and all of its anomalies.

Damn you while I walk away singing “ra-ra-rasputin, russia’s greatest love machineeee”

I digress.

Her dress spins lightly across the kitchen, humming softly, she drops a trickle of salt into the pan.

Her shirt is a 1970′s beauty. Colorful, light dances upon the silk pink of her cheeks.

A smile is such a joy when it is accompanied with the thought of someone close, dear, loved.

The hum flows to his ears and to his heart strings.

As a butterfly on a freshly rained leaf, he lays back and savors the voice of his beauty, his joy,
his sweetness.

Her sweetness could send him into a diabetic disease.

His intelligence finds her each and every time, true to admire, she can never get enough of him.

Does the rest around them matter? Oh but no, it does not.

Indeed, it does not.

She ruffles over to him, kisses his nose quickly, and runs away giggling girlishly.

Its these little things that she does that make him superbly adore her every particle.

She is the epitome of all his needs and wants.

Perfection wrapped in so many layers it is impossible to complete in one life.

They complete each other, she is like the melt to his chocolate.

The sharp to his cut, and the swipe to his slide.

She sways her hair back and forth, sunlight touching but only the tips of her brown hair, further detailing the pure excellence in which it sits.

His hands comes up her neck as she turns, her eyes glistening in front of him, she giggles and says
“you smell like tapioca pudding, dear”

Continuing to giggle, she continues preparing dinner with a slight dance in her walk.

He simply adores her.

Simply adores.