' laura twenty-one on 140608 Having found the elements of joy, she is contented and blessed for all that she has in her life. (:
Unconditional love, let me tell you something; I love you just the same if not a little more.
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About Me
If, I ever found
A wishing carpet lying around,
I'd stand upon it and I'd say:
"Take me to his side, right away!"
And then we'd travel very far
To where the magic countries are
That you and I will never see
And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me.
There she was again. Her figure, her grace, even the evening sun seemed to be frosty cold in comparison to that warm smile. If an angel had chosen to descend upon the Earth at that moment, I woud look at that angel and see a terrifying monster. But I would not tell her. My love of ten thousand could not match my fear of one harsh word from her.
For.. Everywhere I go, I would see her. Everywhere I go, I would hear her. For everywhere she went, I would go. If she were to sail across the ocean, my love would send me walking across it. If she were to admire a volcano from a helicopter, I would stand in the licking flames. And school became heaven and hell all at once. I fear not my teacher's tongue nor the principle's punishment. But I could not stand something so near yet so far - her attention. She sat beside me, in the same kind of chair, using the same type of table. I joked and rebelled, I screamed and I fought. But all I could get was her chilly stare and a "stop it !". Still those words were not harsh. They were music to my ears. Every word she spoke, every syllable she articulated; they were the voice of the angelic choir in chorus.
I hoped my eyes would give me away and my love would come to me. I love you, I do ! they screamed yet she could not tell.
Hell and high waters would be preferable than this torture, this inhumane torture. Someone ask me, please ! I begged, but none would; none, but my trusty old diary. I penned the thoughts and poems that erupted in my brain each time I saw her. My diary was my confidante, but it could not reply. My secret, a secret I was dying to tell, could not come out. So I purposely accidentally dropped my diary as we emerged from the classroom for a break. She picked it up and I purposely accidentally opened it - the other way round. She blushed as our hands met under the book. It was not my story anymore, but ours, a story we could build together. She looked at me the way I looked at her. How stupid I have been, I knew, she loved me too.
And there she was again, that evening. Her figure, her grace, the evening sun was frostier than ever beside that now all too familiar warm smile. If an angel descended now I would not notice, so long as she was there. And now I would tell her, my love of ten thousand still could not match my fear of one harsh word from her, but that word, I knew, would not come.
