#jammypost

[snailydippets]

he is nothing but a fool, they tell me. he can't fight his way out of a paper bag. each dragon he confronts sends him home sobbing. he is more jester than knight.

but maybe that's all i need, after all. a tinkle of bells, rather than chains. someone who would do their all to hear me laugh rather than hurt themselves needlessly and then expect me to praise them for it.

you will die poor, i am warned. a fair lady such as yourself needs a man to provide for her, a man to conquer land and sea-- what has this man conquered to day?

and i just smile, and wave, and nod their dismissal: my heart, i tell them. he has conquered my heart.

[snailydippets]

"look at the sunset," he said. it sounded more like a command than a request.

i looked at him instead. looked at the way his face was bathed in the dying golden light, the way his eyes squinted desperately to see the last breaths it took. looked at the furrow of his brows and the crinkle of his lips. looked at his hand, resting next to mine innocently. it looked so small all of a sudden. so weak.

without thinking, i put my hand over it.

he looked at me then, and his eyes danced with the unreadable.

"look at the sunset," he repeated, and his voice trembled.

i leaned in and kissed him instead.

[snailydippets]

she breaks all laws; physical, psychological, societal. no amount of pretty words and flowing langue can tie her personality down, constrain the hurricane of her wit or the earthquake in her eyes. she is a chaotic force to reckon with, one that rather than tiptoeing on man's thin line separating wrong from right will take it and play jump rope instead. trying to describe her has less chance of happening than finding that famous needle in its equally famed haystack-- and yet it's that less than negative chance i have at success that pushes me to fall to my knees and search anyway.

[snailydippets]

her eyebrows resembled caterpillars, and her father* tweezers.

(*the man in question had gone missing just, as she would later proclaim, when she needed him most.)

[snailydippets]

she melted under my touch like hot wax, and i kissed her hungrily, choosing not to think of how charred my lips would be after we were done.

[snailydippets]

she did love him. she swore it up and down on the very cross that she wore. and yet, she pulled back each time he kissed her, and her calendar was ransacked with red circles around the dates that he was to be gone.

[snailydippets]

she sipped her scalding hot coffee as though it were a fine wine.

[snailydippets]

i grow tired of describing people sometimes. i can think of a thousand new ways to describe a thousand new faces, and yet it all seems the same when i am done. there is no dip in my writing, just a tired lull of a cracked dusty record playing on repeat. there is no flair, just the same old secondhand tap-shoes, never worn. i wish i could make it all amount to something new, something eye catching and interesting, but the sad truth is this: in all the years i've held pen to paper, i've never seen anything more eye catching and interesting than a stranger's face.