Ellipsis

**Warning:  This post is a fiction piece.  Just letting you know, so you don't click through expecting some philosophizing or cool news about my actual life.**

"Arms" by Christina Perri

I tried to make a separate tab so this story wouldn't pop up right on your newsfeed, but unfortunately it doesn't look like I understand blogger well enough to do that.  I've been in a very romantic mood today/recently, so I took I some time to doodle and write this while listening to my love song mix.  Now I have to warn you that the most recent book I read was Fifty Shades the Third One:  in Which Nothing Happens, but There's a Lot of Sex and I have this uncontrollable vampire-like ability to adopt the writing style of whatever book I'm reading.  So this is not the best written story, I apologize.  And there's no sex.  I apologize again.  But I can guarantee that there are no references to my inner goddess.  You're welcome.

~ <3 ~ 

"Amy?"  He said to me one day when we were getting ice cream.

"Eli, " I said back, artisanal-hazelnut-something dripping down my hands.

He laughed and handed me a napkin as I tried to lick it off my wrist. "I… uhm…"  He seemed nervous, at a loss for words.

I raised an eyebrow at him, "Is something up?"

He took a large bite of ice cream, shrugged, and walked on.

"Hey," I trotted to keep up.  "Seriously."

He shrugged again, "No, nothing… you wanna go to the park?"  It was a lame diversion, but it was such a beautiful day.

"Let's go to the water," I countered.

"Sounds good," he slipped his arm around my waist and planted a sticky kiss on my temple.

"Ewww… ice cream slobber!"  I joked, trying to rub his saliva off with the heel of my hand.

"What, you don't like raspberry?"  He laughed, his eyes flashing mischievously.  I knew that look.

"Don't you dare…" I said, putting some distance between us.

His eyebrows slowly crept up under his curly mop of dirty blonde hair and a huge grin broke onto his face.

"Eli…" I warned, eyeing the crowd of people behind me and wondering if I could break through.

"Amy…" He taunted, lunging forward.  

I slipped behind an overweight asian woman and turning around, sprinted as fast as I could through the throng of people.  I kept ahead of him for about a block, but he was so much taller than me that eventually I felt his arm reach around and drag me to a halt.  

"Don't," I panted, but he wouldn't listen.  He leaned over my shoulder and unselfconsciously licked my cheek.  "Oh my god!  You disgusting fuck!"  I laughed, pushing him away.  "Do you know how many people just saw you do that?!"  He kissed me.  "And that?!"

He only laughed and gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

"I hate you," I pawed dramatically at my cheek.

"I love you," he said sweetly and pulled out another napkin.

"Yeah, I love you, too," I conceded.

"Amy…" He looked suddenly nervous again.

"Eli…" I mimicked.

"Let's go to the water."  He turned abruptly on his heels and walked away, not even bothering to make sure I was with him.

"Eli."

He tossed the remainder of his ice cream in the trash as he passed back by the parlor and put his hands in his pockets.

"Babe,"  I reached for his arm, felt him tense, and decided to focus on my half-melted hazelnut cone.  We walked in silence for a bit.

"Damien's getting really good,"  he finally spoke up, talking about work.  "Like in a couple of years, he'll be giving me lessons... probably got perfect pitch."  As we walked, I let the conversation wander.  He was acting strange:  distant and superficial.  But after three years, I had learned to trust him to be honest with me.  Sometimes it just took awhile. 

"You know, one day I'm just gonna go up to her and--"

"Amy…" We were looking out at the river now.

I stopped my story short and looked up at him, "Eli…"

"My lease is up in August," he said flatly.

I sighed, somewhat exasperated by the false alarm.  "So are you and Stephen gonna look for a new apartment?  I don't think you should if you don't have to; it's a cool place.  Besides I like having you so close."

His jaw clenched and he stared resolutely across the water.

"What can I say, I'm lazy."  I leaned into him and felt him soften a little.

"Amy…"  He said heavily. "What if, instead… what if you and I…"  He trailed off and seemed to decide that it would be better to count the buildings across the water.  I just stood there, my breathing pausing with him. "… I mean, we're practically doing it anyway… and splitting a one bedroom is so much cheaper…"  My heart slammed into my throat.  "But, you know, Stephen doesn't care either way, so it's okay if you're not ready.  I know we haven't talked about it much recently… I was just thinking…"

"Eli…"  

He looked over at me for the first time since we passed the ice cream parlor.  He looked lost.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out another napkin.  "Your make-up's all fucked," he gulped, wiping under my eyes.  "So... crying's a definite no, I guess?"  He laughed nervously.

"You haven't asked me anything yet."

He took a deep, steadying breath, and started up cautiously, "Amy… do you wanna live together?"

"Yes," I rolled my eyes. "Duh."

He exhaled and let out a deep, relieved laugh before sweeping me up in his arms.  Without thinking, I kissed him.  And for once, I didn't care who saw.

~ <3 ~

Thanks for sticking with me for that one.  I feel like it shows a very warped sense of when and how that conversation happens.  I mean, I think really people probably have that conversation in bed and it really does usually start with "my lease is up soon"  and it's in no way romantic.  But wouldn't it be nice if it was?  I mean, that's a big fucking step.  Because if you make it, if you break up, you have to move out of your own home.  And that sounds like such a scary amount of commitment.  William used to joke "you know I could still be living in San Francisco, if someone had just asked me."  And I know he was joking, but part of me wanted to be like "DUDE.  You know that shit's like years away. Years.  Don't even joke."

I've also been struggling with romance in media recently and almost wrote a post on that instead.  The… uhm… non-comittment of it.  "Oh we fell in love in 3 days!"  I keep finding myself going "But what about a year later?"  None of my relationships have gotten past a year later.  I don't trust any relationship in it's first years anymore.  Not even in a movie.  Sorry folks.

Also, I've decided that laughter is very romantic.  There's almost no laughter in the Fifty Shades trilogy and that's one of the 6,000 reasons that relationship is so painful.

*wind chimes*

*Key in door*
"Oh my gah..."
"Hm?" *doesn't look up*
Door slams.
"I just-- ugh..."
"Bad day?"  *looks up*
"Just-- move over."  Crawls onto couch.  Knees under herself.  Head on his chest.
*laughs* Moves computer to table.  "You wanna--"
"Shhhhhhhh."
"Bu--"
"shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
*laughs again*  "Okay," he thinks.
*sits quietly, breathing*
*sits quietly, breathing*
*relaxes*
*wind chimes*

Babel

I'm writing a lot right now, and oddly, I'm not drawing at all.  My latest journal is all short stories so far.  I'm writing about all the the things I usually draw about.  The things that pop into my brain between hitting snooze.  Things that I wish could happen.  Emotions that I want to work through.  I've been listening to Mumford's Babel since it came out, and it seems to tell a very clear story.  Kind of the same way the Florence + the Machine's Ceremonials has a very clear a "I don't know how to say 'I love you'" through-line.   You may not agree with me, but this is the story I hear:

~ <3 ~

They met and they fell in love.  It was pretty uneventful except that it was quick.  Maybe they didn't even know they were in love; they just knew that they liked being together, a lot.

At first, he felt like she had saved him.  Saved him from some darkness, some hatred, within him.  He was elated.  He loved every minute with her.

But then, and he can't explain way, this suffocating fear crept in.  Fear of what he didn't know.  He just felt like he couldn't breathe anymore.  It overwhelmed him; his fear, his need.  He wanted to be alone, but couldn't stand it.  He was losing himself, he thought.

So when a woman, another woman, a beautiful woman, put an arm around him and flattered him, he saw a different way.  There was a way out for him.  This woman whispered in his ear and wound fingers through his hair.  Making him drunk.  Making him free.

He didn't hide what he did.  He hated himself for it.  He'd loved her and he'd thrown it away.

Wandering home that night, in the dark and cold, he knew he was destroying everything.

Her eyes burned with spite when he told her.  She grew cold and fierce, lashed out.  And he only sat there, feeling he deserved it all.

"Goodbye," he whispered as she left.  He was broken and weak, but for a brief moment, he thought he gulped air.

In time, he found himself empty and wandering again.  He hated the beautiful woman who'd intoxicated him.  He blamed her, he blamed himself, he blamed the girl he once loved.  He blamed them all.  He mourned his loss and found his freedom debilitating.

He was adrift.

He wondered if she still cared for him.  Some nights, he would pass by her house and look for the lights behind the blinds.  "Goodnight," he'd say when he couldn't find them.

Somehow he got in touch with her.  He mumbled his apologies, something he had neglected months before.  He never asked forgiveness, though.  Or let her know his pain.  Staring across the table, he tried to convince them both that it was all for the best.  He didn't know that she didn't believe it either.  He didn't know that she wanted him to ask for forgiveness.  She so desperately wanted to give it.

"How do you expect me to trust you?"  She asked.
He couldn't answer.
"I will wait," he muttered instead.

They left in silence, without resolution.  And he knew he loved her then.

Snowfall

"Snowfall" by Ingrid Michaelson

I was watching Bones and this song came on.  I had to look it up, and now it's making me tear up.  I don't know why I'm so into snow right now.  But I'm just so overcome with nostalgia and longing.  This song just paints such a damn clear picture for me.  Sometimes I think I can't stay here in San Francisco forever because how can I possibly raise kids somewhere without snow culture?

You don't have to read this next thing.  It's sappy and romantic as shit.  The truth is I don't have word on my new computer, or else I'd write this there, and just save it.

~

Something feels different when I wake up.  The air in the bedroom seems crisper, the light brighter.  I pad to the window and push back the curtain.  The pane is fogged over, so I pull my sleeve over my hand and start to clear it off.  I already know what's behind it, and try to contain my excitement.  As I wipe away the moisture, I can see the giant flakes swirling around.  There's already a couple inches collected in the corners, and it's falling so thick and fast, I know that no one's going into work today.

It's still early, so I bite back the urge to shout out.  Instead I lift up the covers and bury myself underneath.  "It's snowing," I whisper, but doubt you hear me.

We wake up an hour later to your alarm.  At first you're surprised to see me.  "It's snowing," I say again.

With a sly smile, you pull me tight.  "We're so going sledding," you tell my shoulder.

I laugh.  You bought a plastic sled last month and haven't been able to talk me into using it.  I remind you that we aren't 10 anymore and would look incredibly creepy on a hillside full of kids.  "We'd probably break the sled anyway," I add, but secretly wish you'll convince me otherwise.

"I wouldn't, I'm not as fat as you."

"You ass!"  I definitely slap you.

You're laughing so hard.

So am I.  We're very ironic.

We decide to make breakfast and table sledding until later.  Since it's a snow day we go big:  french toast, hot chocolate, and, of course, you make bacon.  It all smells so good.  Mostly, I sit at the breakfast bar and drink hot chocolate while you cook. Standing barefoot in front of the stove, you gesture absent-mindedly with the spatula as we talk.  Through the kitchen windows the snow falls thickly around the house and lends a soft chill to the rooms. 

Later, you lean in for a kiss as you slide me a plate of french toast, "I love you." 

"I love you, too."

That sly smile lights your face again. "I can't wait to go sledding," you say, biting into a piece of bacon.

"Me either."  

Holocene

Play this while you're reading this I think:

I was just thinking about how much I like snow.  I wonder if I can afford to go up to Tahoe this year.  Just imagine: me and some of my closest California buds go up to a cabin and drink hot cocoa as it snows.  We'd sit by a fire, wet and cold from fumbling around on skis/ice skates (and one snowboard b/c one of us, no doubt, wanted to act cool).  Later that evening, more like the middle of the night, as the snow began to fall again, someone would suddenly be struck with an urgent desire to make snow angels.

"It's too fucking cold!"  I'd say.
"It's too late; I'm tired and in my PJ's," someone else would add.
"SNOW ANGELS," my friend would persist. As if that's all we needed to hear.
"You go right ahead,"  I'd say.  Because that's the kind of person I am.  "But I'm gonna stay right here."

My friend starts putting on her snow boots, right on top of her pajamas.  "Come on, guys!"  She's got her jacket on now and is looking for her mittens, "it's gorgeous out!"  She's right.  The lights around the cabins bounce off of the snow and make it almost blinding.  The flakes are falling soft and thick; the kind that collect in your eyelashes.

When I was a kid, I used to walk around at night when it was snowing like this and pretend I was trudging alone through the arctic tundra.  I was undoubtedly scouting some epic magical force.  Something grand and enigmatic.  There was always magic in those games.  Because that's the kind of person I am.

My friend darts out into this slowly growing snow kingdom, then plops backward with a laugh.  She gets stuck for a moment, wriggling awkwardly to stand.  Eventually she gives up and lies into the soft snow drift, making her angel where she fell.  My other friends are already dressing to join her.  They can't resist a this moment.  I stand in the doorway, barefoot and shivering.  I didn't have enough sense to leave my cocoa by the fireplace, so fat snowflakes land gently in my cup.

"Mel, come ON!"  They shout as they run past me into the snow.
"No way,"  I say. "Me and my cocoa are staying inside."  I take another sip, then open my mouth to surreptitiously catch some snow chunks  on my tongue.

As she's walking out a friend picks up my boots and puts them at my feet, "Girl, this isn't a choice, we're all going out in that snow."
"I'm not,"  I can be very assertive.  Especially when I'm wrong.
"It's gonna be fun!"
"It's gonna be cold.  And when you come back in you'll be miserable and have wet pajamas."  Especially when I'm wrong.
"I guess," she says and runs out to join the others.

I stand in the doorway, laughing with them until my toes start to hurt from the cold.  Shutting the door behind me so the snow doesn't follow me in, I pad back to the fireplace.  I lie back on the hearth rug to wait and listen to the fire's crackling accompaniment.