Falling in love with love

I fall in love easily.

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. I've been in love maybe hundreds of times in my lifetime. And I'm not just talking about falling in love with boys, although that does happen pretty often. I'm mostly just referring to people, things, ideas, concepts, books, authors, paintings, lyrics, colors that I randomly encounter in life.

It doesn't take much to catch my attention. I like interesting and unusual details that aren't typically found in what I'm experiencing. I like voices that are imperfect, hearts that are broken, flaws and scratches, spelling mistakes (even though they bother me to death), and patterns. I keep an inspiration folder on my computer, full of random items I encounter on the internet, and it's spilling over with beautiful things, maybe things that only I would find beautiful.



Once something has caught my attention, I fall in love in a matter of minutes.

In a sweater poorly knit

This happens to be who I am.

New Heavens for Old

Amy Powell

I am useless. 

What I do is nothing.

What I think has no savour.

There is an almanac between the windows:

It is of the year when I was born.

My fellows call to me to join them,

They shout for me, 

passing the house in a great wind of vermillion banners.

They are fresh and fulminant,

They are indecent and strut with the thought of it,

They laugh, and curse, and brawl,

And cheer a holocaust of "Who comes firsts!" at the iron fronts of the houses at the two edges of the street.

Young men with naked hearts jeering between iron house=fronts,

Young men with naked bodies beneath their clothes

Passionately conscious of them,

Ready to strip off their clothes,

Ready to strip off their customs, their usual routine,

Clamouring for the rawness of life,

In love with appetite,

Proclaiming it as a creed,

Worshipping youth,

Worshipping themselves.

They call for women and the women come,

They bare the whiteness of their lusts to the dead gaze of the old house-fronts,

They roar down the street like flame,

They explode upon the dead houses like new, sharp fire.

But I--

I arrange three roses in a Chinese vase:

A pink one,

A red one,

A yellow one.

A fuss over their arrangement.

Then I sit in a South window

And sip pale wine with a touch of hemlock in it,

And think of Winter nights,

And field-mice crossing and re-crossing

The spot which will be my grave.

Under our bare feet in this brand new colony

Well, I fell in love again... with The Postal Service:

I'll be the waterwings that save you if you start drowning

In an open tab when your judgement's on the brink

I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite

Albums back as you're lying there drifting off to sleep...

I'll be the platform shoes and undo what heredity's done to you...

You won't have to strain to look into my eyes

I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat

With the collar up so you won't catch a cold

Lovely. Strange. Beautiful. And lovely.

Get Naked

Nothing will come between me and my Naked Juice.

God's Love Letter to You

I found this in my mailbox this morning. I don't know who put it in there or where it came from, but it definitely put a smile on my face as I was walking back to my dormroom and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day. I think that's the sign of a great love letter.

God's Love Letter to You

I made her... she is different. She's Unique. With love I formed her in her mother's womb. I fashioned her with great joy. I remember, with pleasure, the day I created her.

I love her smile.
I love her ways.
I love to hear her laugh!
And the silly things she says and does.
She brings me great pleasure.
This is how I made her...

I made her pretty and not beautiful, because I knew her heart, and I knew she would be vain... I wanted her to search out her heart, and to learn that it would be Me in her that would make her beautiful... and it would be Me in her that would draw friends to her.

I made her in such a way that she would need Me. I made her a little more lonesome than she would like to be... only because i need for her to learn to depend on Me... I know her heart, I know if I had not made her like this she would go her own chosen way and forget Me... her creator.

I have given her many good and happy things... because I love her.

Because I love her, I have seen her broken heart, and the tears that she has cried alone. I have cried with her, and had a broken heart too.

Many times she has stumbled and fallen alone only because she would not hold My hand. So many lessons she's learned the hard way because she would not listen to My voice.

So many times I have sat back and sadly watched her go her merry way alone. Only to watch her return to My arms, sad and broken.

And now she is Mine again. I made her. Then bought her. Because I love her.

I have to reshape her and remold her... to renew her to what I had planned for her to be. It has not been easy for her or for me.

I want her to be conformed to My image. This high goal I have set for her.

Because I love her.

Colonel T. M. Everett

I have a new fish languishing in pink fishy-paradise on the top shelf of my desk right now. His name is Colonel Theodore Michael Everett, and he kind of loves his new home. Sometimes he swims across his bowl and I can't stop looking at him because his tail-fin is so lovely. I think he knows how beautiful he is because I've caught him a couple of times looking up at the reflective surface of the water like he's checking himself out. I would have a fish like that. I would.

whimsical, thankyou

The search for the end of the perfect rainbow was on.
Gena was once again caught up in wonder. Her heart felt as light as the after-rain sky above and every shadow, storm, and cloud that had previously been holding her captive had cleared. These were the effects of the fascination that took control of her senses every time a long rain finally ended. But unlike other gloomy showers, this one had put a flawless, perfect rainbow in the sky above her small town of Chestnut, California and Gena was intent on finding the end.
It wasn’t that she expected to find a pot of gold or even a leprechaun. In fact, Gena had actually developed a fear of the little green Irishmen during her fourth grade year when her best friend, Mara had dressed up as a leprechaun for Halloween; Gena was sure that the costume wasn’t meant to instill a fear of all things Irish in small, impressionable children, but unfortunately that’s what had happened. Since then, Gena had always secretly questioned the exact intentions of leprechauns.
No, it definitely wasn’t a leprechaun that Gena wanted to find at the end of this rainbow.
An old pink bicycle was accompanying her on her quest. Together, they traveled up Potter’s Grove Street and down an unnamed side street, where Gena said out loud to herself (altogether a very charming and annoying habit), “I wonder why this street doesn’t have a name” and continued down the redwood-lined road. Her eyes were stuck on the brilliant rainbow as all other thoughts were pushed out of her preoccupied mind.
It was an obsession, really; Gena felt she couldn’t focus on anything else until she reached the end of that all-consuming rainbow and witnessed for herself the magic she was convinced was waiting, just waiting for someone curious enough to snatch it. And she had to be that curious someone. Her desire to reach the magic flowed out of her heart and into her fingertips. All over, her body tingled with the anticipation of discovering something new and a silent, joyous song began to hum its way down, down to her toes.
Looking ahead, Gena could see where the rainbow dipped into a tightly huddled grove of trees halfway up Pistachio Mountain. The only problem was that she had run straight into a roadblock: Mr. Duskin, the owner of the sliver of the mountain where the rainbow-glowing grove of trees resided, happened to be the most overbearing, overprotective, overparanoid man Gena knew. He was always complaining to the town mayor, Gena’s grandfather that yet another group of “teeny boppers” had trampled the neon-red “WARNING” signs that littered Mr. Duskin’s property fence from one side to the other.
As she had been throughout her life, Gena was completely aware of the trouble she was getting herself into as she pushed her slight body through the one hole in the fence that hadn’t yet been secured with twelve planks of wood. “At least I have a good reason for trespassing,” she said out loud to herself, again in that offhanded manner of hers. Any anxiety she might have had about intruding on Mr. Duskin’s property was dissipated by the thought of reaching that perfect rainbow and Gena began to run up the side of the mountain, so consumed by the thought of finally reaching the magic that wonder and enthrallment took control of her footsteps and propelled her towards the as-yet unseen trunk of the rainbow.