My niece is almost two years old, and I have been teaching her how to blow bubbles. She can do it if I hold her face and point her mouth in the right direction. Most of the time I blow the bubbles. She gets this look on her face like an excited puppy and says to me "I'll go get it!" before she proceeds to chase after the bubbles and try to catch one to bring back to me.
I won't say the only thing, but by far, the most important thing that school has taught me is that this, taking pictures, swinging on swingsets, drawing with sidewalk chalk, and blowing bubbles, this is how I want to spend the rest of my life. I want to be a mom.
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A little insightinside my head: swish swish like flying back and forth
outside my head: the trapeze swinger by iron and wine
color: yellow, orange and then pink. acid free, photo safe glue stick
mood: nostalgic, and also wistful
smell: soap
taste: clean water
looking forward to: tomorrow
to avoid: a career in massage therapy
career choice: professional bubble blower
wishing: the dreams would stop for a while
fear: that they will always be just dreams
craving: affection
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A King and QueenBe the princess in that stone tower,
crying for that handsome butcher's plight
(and, as some princess might,
she still calls him a knight.)
But the best thing for you would be queen,
so be queen.
You're all that I need.
Though I know that it never can be,
I'd be pleased
to post your decrees,
to fall at your knees,
to name all your streets
and to sit down and weep
when you're carried back through them and set down to sleep,
and to lie by your side for sublime centuries
(until we crumble to dust when we're crushed by a single sun)
...
If you want to see and be seen,
then be seen.
Your dress is dark red
and your opening eyes are bright green.
Make a scene,
but don't lie on the bed,
laid out like you're dead,
because honey, you're murdering me.
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