I Love You MotherI watched them smile happily at each other; I stood wide eyed at the fluidity of their movements: bending with each gust of wind and the sun warming their leaves, making them shift slightly. I kept my distance as I observed them, they tracked the sun with a hidden compass and never straying from their designated path. Each day they would lift their heads to the sky and gaze longingly at the pale golden rays blazing above them.
They would twinkle little melodies each time the sun would break from a stray cloud and shine even brighter. Their green hands would fold downward when the rain fell from the above, like tiny, clear pearls dropping delicately to the ground. I'd watch in amazement at the long complicated dances they would perform for their only audience, the Sun.
With their leafy tendrils they would carry loved ones high in the air, illuminated by the sheer joy the sunlight brought them. Raising their voices in unison they sang praise for the shower of golden rays that woke them e
Winter StormsShe was a beautiful creature, with the dusting of a chilly winter morning settled on her shoulders. Her voice was frigid and cold; just like the arctic wind that whipped past her ankles, seeping into her pale, pearl-tainted skin. Her heart was as bleak and empty as her snow glazed eyes. Eyes that hungrily gnawed at the warm summer days and waited patiently. Waiting, for the day when her frosted fingertips could graze her brothers most beloved river and turn the murmuring of their water-song silent.
"Your love for them, makes you weak," her voice pierced the gentle breeze, like an ice covered arrow and skimmed through the mountains, as stone over water. A sinister and half-caring smile perched itself upon her fair, scarlet tinged lips. Her brother may be the God of Summer, but her frosty embrace always conquered his most verdant creations.
She inhaled the absence of noise, while a fresh cascade of a snow-punctured breeze became a delicate robe encompassing her. Soft, slow footsteps matt
Stalk MeHis mouth moved with laser-like precision as he thanked me for his morning latte (caramel, spider web-thin foam and a pinch, never more, of coca powder) then wished me a good day. I cradled each word he spoke, bouncing the syllables he uttered and binding them to my girlish fantasies. He was my prince. He just didn’t know it yet.
My fingers longed to clasp his forever as he took his change (he never counted it anymore), his fingers sliding just slightly along mine. He smiled politely, whitewashed eyes with the blackness of night looked back at me and I returned the smile. These moments were my heaven.
I watched him with a melancholy expression as he turned to leave, his form slumping slightly as he opened the door to the outside. The bitterness of winter began slowly eating away at his posture; he became Quasimodo before my eyes. Head perched tightly upon his shoulders --could air even get between the folds of neck and shoulder?-- and eyes dead set against