Your Are the Only Exception

Have I always known you? I feel like your smile is so familiar. I feel like time's endless gaze fails to rest its eyes on you. Your youthful energy is so captivating. Always carefree, your a perfect foil to me. I catch your eye sometimes, but it looks different than it used too. I think you've lost some of your innocence, I liked that about you, but I like the new you too. Your just different thats all. My Peter Pan whose all grown up. I think that your inspiring. Heartbreak makes everything an inspiration I suppose. I'm like one of those tragic artists; afraid to seek treatment for their depression for fear of ruining their art. I'm afraid if I find happiness, I will have nothing to write about. No one like a perfect story, even in fairy tales happiness's lover is tragedy. But anyways, I think your a tad ignorant. My feelings for you are deep, I regard and consider more than your physical qualities. Actions speak louder than words, but words fill the silences in between actions; I listen to your thoughts, I hold your words dear. I think that we are connected, by a string that has been stretched to its limit. About to snap, it is drunk with tension. I almost think the breaking of said string is inevitable, so I'm just waiting for my stubborn heart to loosen its death-grip on my end; for surely your end is trailing along, dragging in the dust. Surely that forlorn piece of twine, is the final symbol of your true affections. But my heart exists in a world is has created for itself. I like to believe that somewhere deep down in the depths of your soul, I live modestly in a small corner. Everytime you are about to forget me, I simply tug on your heart strings and you hear a whisper of me in your ear...remember her laugh...the way she made you laugh.
I miss you very much. I miss how you always had words for everything. Something funny to conquer my most melancholy of moods. I miss your honest blue eyes, they were so clear. I miss your insight. Your laugh, bell-like and earnest. I miss having someone to talk too. You're everything I ever dreamed I would find.
I just wish we would have loved eachother at the same time. For a constant as the sun's rise every morning, I will always think of you. My cashmere embrace. A faint enchanting memory. You're going to be someone and you're going to make someone unbelievably happy. See what I see, please. I promise that what happened was nesecessary for both of us, however painful and heart wrenching, I believe it was important. You will always be the boy I write about. The hero who saves the girl, even if she doesn't know she needs saving. I was drowning and you pulled me from the ocean. I will always be thankful for that. Thank you for everything you were and everything you showed me I could be.

-Whit

Casanova

He smiled at her. Said, I haven't seen you in a while. Said softer, I miss you.

She thought, Did I imagine that? The smile? The words? Could he be more than an illusion?

He laughed at something she said. His eyes sparkled. He remembered with her. Her voice taking him back. Her eyes edged with a sadness whose origin he couldn't place.

She looked into his complementary eyes and fought surpressed dreams. Don't do this she chastised. Proceed with caution.

He touched her and all her will power stimultaneously vanished. He paused saying, things used to be different didn't they?

She smiled enigmatically. Yes, they used to be simple and unbroken. Mirrors that held promise, not lies. Flowers that remained vivid. Stars that defiantly glittered. Minds that bred ingenuity. Blue eyes that held truth. Yes, darling, things used to be different.

He liked they way he understood her silence. Volumes were stored in her clear eyes, meaning held in the slight curve of her lips.

She hugged her legs to her. It felt good to allow herself this minute pleasure. A unfair but unaviodable exchange: a memoryof him for the continuous breaking of her heart. She wanted to make a wish. To point her hopeful face towards the Heavens; towards the stars and close her eyes tight. But she gave up on wishing long ago, and her wish died an inarticulate death.

My Story (Part Two) Prolouge

Once upon a time, a girl artisticly sifted through chasms of colored pencils, blending sticks and crumbling white chalk. She sighed, placing her callused hands to the clean paper, hope reverberating off its every pore. Her heart swarmed. Content. She began to sketch that first imperfect line. She regarded it most conspiritorily. How could it look so beautiful in her mind, so vivid, so inviting, so whole and yet appear empty and listless when transferred to canvas?

A boy turned to her suddenly, keenly he asked. How are you?

The girl disliked this genial turn of phrase, this casual careful excuse for compassion. For emotion. Who among her peers would willingly submit themselves to her? For her full feelings could not be expressed in two syllables, in the two empty words; I'm fine. No one's life deserves to become a synopsis. She mused on what would happen if she dared utter a unique reply, a witty remark, a passionate declaration. Would his face blanche and become scarlett all in the same fluid motion? Would he offer his own saga to complement hers? Would he look around shyly pretending not to have heard her; inclining his head ever so politely would he ask, Excuse me, what were you saying? Would he feign indifference?

He interrogated again; how's your love life?

The girl smiled despite herself. A secret smile, whose meaning was an eternal enigma. Love life? Ha. She automized a reply: It's amazing.

Once upon a time, a boy read between the lines. He studied her features. Impassive her eyes shone, resilience evidenced in the forcibly upturned corners of her mouth, tears floated almost inperceptively behind her azure irises. Her face held the wisdom that only knowledge of pain can bring about, silently she pleaded, believe me.

The girl avoided his penetrating gaze. He looked at her and whispered, you mean non- existent, right? It's okay: me too.