No one is perfect.
What use would “us” be if either “you” or “I” was?
Being sick is miserable. It is not caring whether or not your bed is made. It is not caring whether or not a mug is clean, until you want it to make tea. It’s not caring how eloquent your writing is. It’s not having the strength to reblog all those posts you liked on tumblr.
Today I noticed my jacket hanging on the back of the door. I haven’t worn it since the last time I was in the stable,and it still smells ever so faintly of horse. My mind automatically combined the musky scent of horse with the springlike air.
I can just imagine myself, green jacket and all, rapidly turning gray with mud as I groom my mare. Actually, I would probably grow a fur coat of my own if I tried to groom the shaggy beast right now. I would most likely forget about the mud, and swipe an arm across my face and give my self a muddy beard.
Its because of moments like these that it’s days like today that I miss the barn the most. You know the kind; the sun finally peeks out from behind the clouds to shimmer across the puddles. You can look out across any stretch of grass and so easily picture the mud forming in the pastures back home.
Winter in New York is something special. Its not something that you can pin down; everyday the weather is different. Two days ago, The wind was bitter cold, and the littlest bit of snow dusted the campus paths. I’m almost positive the tip of my nose fell off from frostbite that day. Fast forward a few days, and the Sun is shining glinting off of the remains of the previous days snowfall. Today, the temperature rose to tolerable levels; I could have gone to class in a sweater, instead of my wool coat.
I know many people who rejoice when the temperature rises above freezing. I am not one of them. the 30’s are a bane to me; I can never seem to stop shivering. It is also then that the snow begins to melt, the paths fill with puddles and slush, and the quad outside my building turns into a swamp. No, I definitely prefer the coo, crisp, twenties: warm enough that your toes remain firmly affixed to your feet, but cold enough that the snow does not melt during the day, only to freeze in the frigid night air.
Give me snow and sun any day, and I will cheerfully bundle up against the chill. Pour down on me with rain and thunder and bone deep shivers, and you’re just asking for me to stay indoors.
A bit about me I guess,
I’m a college student in New York State. I don’t think I’m a fabulous writer, but I do an okay job. I like horses and Doctor Who. Harry Potter and I go way back ( the book that is)
Oh, I had a multitude of reasons. I hated the dust. I was even once afraid of heights; that year, I couldn’t bring myself to the scale the ladder. Now however, There is something oh-so-relaxing, and oh-so-familiar about a hay loft.
In the summer, the sun peeks through the windows at the ends of the barn, and dust motes drift to and fro on the breezes that find themselves trapped indoors. I like to sit among the beams that cross the open space, just sit and listen. When the horses are indoors, their chomping and stamping echoes up the ladder. But even when they are outdoors, the barn is not silent. The swallows chatter and the cats prowl; you never know when a cat will drop down on your shoulders from above. Hoof beats and noisy whickering work their way through the wooden walls and comfort me.
In the winter, the barn is quiet. Most of the cows have left the property until spring, and the swallows have fled the frigid air. The loft though, is still cozy. Mounds of hay trap what little warmth has not been driven away. The cats still hunt for sleepy-eyed mice. And I still sit here, and listen to the sound of my mare breathing below me.
No, I am positive.
The walk took seconds, once upon a time. I used to scale the hillside in such a cheerful mood; I was happy, and bubbly, and my music made the walk go faster. Now my thoughts swirl round and round as heavy as an anchor. Thoughts of waves and chemical reactions, and the ever present thoughts of you threaten to shove me down the mountain.
So, here’s a list of the stuff I like…
- Doctor Who,
- Harry Potter,
- Arts and crafts,
- Humorous stories,
- Chronicles of Narnia,
- Fandoms in general,
- Prose/writing/short stories,
- Boys, ;)
- Percy Jackson,
- Music (<3),
- Drake and Josh,
- Creepy/stalkery/funny posts,
I don’t really post here much. My fandom/ random blog is justforkickandgiggleIf you actually want to see posts, follow me there.
Every. Single. Person. That reblogs this will get a customized doodle of their URL based on what their blog looks like. I’m bored and have waaaay to much time on my hands.
Sometimes I find myself just wanting to curl up in a corner. Either that or shout curses to the sky. Today is a day dominated by those moments.
There is a quiet side to love. It is quite distinct from passion or romance, and exists only in lingering caresses and near-silent words of comfort. I have no desire for helpless passion, only for the courage to love you as you deserve to be loved. Quietly, and completely.
A few months ago, it took a phone call and the sound of your voice to bring tears to my eyes. Now though, a simple text message cracks my composure. I feel like I have been perched on the edge for a while now, and have finally taken the plunge. The water is over my head now; what on Earth have I gotten myself into?
It’s raining today, and so I sit inside my little dorm room, nearly alone. The lights are bright and cheerful music drifts across the room from my roommate’s computer.
Days like this, I would much rather spend wrapped in your arms. Instead, I shall have to make do with the phantom touches of my memories while I sit by my phone and wait for your call.