Shouldn't I be sleeping?

It's late and I'm not sleepy. So.............. I'll stay up sketching and listening to Wicked! And possibly nomming some mint-n-chip ice cream. It's calling my name and I'm helpless to resist...

No-no-no. Seriously, I need sleep and I'm going to bed.

Right.

Now.

Or I could stay up watching Moulin Rouge! Just kidding! (Not really). ~puts on Moulin Rouge with plans to take her sketch book and ice cream with her. But -not- her laptop!~

What You've Always Known

Words whispered
Smiles exchanged
The simplicity of two souls at play
Happy moments flow into days

You're afraid to show
yourself
But
He won't let you hide
He won't let go

He wants your all

Soon you have a soft place

to cushion life's blows

A flame of brilliance
hidden in the snow

He has your trust now
And you have his
And you stop troubling
with what this is

It doesn't matter
and never did
Because you've always known.

Sketch: Help Him

Here's a sketch that was supposed to be a scene from the book I'm reading, For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale, but for whatever reason I drew something completely different. It's nothing I've ever thought of before, so who knows where it came from, meh.

Sketch: Introverted Girl

Here's a sketch I drew of a girl who isn't very social. It's easier to see in the big version up top.

The Boy, Part 2: Island

(Continued from The Boy, Part 1: Water's Edge)

The warm water rushed over me, comforting. The boy's hands held mine. I felt secure.

"The island is beautiful," he continued. "Tranquil in places. Exquisite and dark."

"Is there danger?"

"Only the illusion of danger. Nothing can harm you there." He lifted my hands from the water, kissing them softly and leaving shining droplets on his lips. "Come with me. I know you'll love it."

I went willingly, longing for the island's beauty. The promise of excitement without danger. I wanted to go where he went, to feel what he felt, and I even urged him faster along. I could no longer feel anything beneath my feet, but with his hands holding mine it didn't matter. 

His grip loosened. Suddenly the water grew cold. The waves no longer gentle. I reached for him but he swam a few feet away.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I like to swim alone sometimes."

I nodded. "Okay." But his answer felt wrong. I swam alongside him but struggled to keep up. I felt the slow stupidity of my efforts and was sure he did too. "Don't leave me behind," I called out for the dozenth time.

"I'm not," he snapped, and the frustration in his voice emptied me.

"You feel far away," I said.

"I told you, I'm right here with you."

I reached for him and he recoiled.

"You're not swimming," I said.

His voice lacked warmth. He didn't meet my eyes. "I'm not going to keep swimming."

My chest hollowed. "But, what about the island?"

"I don't want to find it anymore."

The waves swelled high, pushing us further apart. "I'm afraid," I called.

I waited for him to tell me I had nothing to fear.

But he remained silent.

I treaded water. He swam in a different direction from where we'd come or where we were going. He swam to another shore. I tried to follow but he ducked below the water and out of sight. He was gone for so long I thought he might have drowned. But he emerged at the water's edge looking stronger than ever. 

He was fine.

He was fine without me. And I was alone.

I tried to swim on my own too.

But I had let myself get too far from the shore.

I began to flail, but he no longer cared. I called out, but he no longer listened. I refused to slip beneath the surface, but the pain of the frigid water filled every part of me. He had left me.

I made it shore, but not the way he had. Not strong, but beaten. Battered. Having fought for every inch as I swam to the sand I should never have left. I sat, huddled and soaked, trembling and broken. But the sun would dry me. Time would heal me. And now I knew better. I would never enter into that water again. The island wasn't meant for me, if it was even there at all.

Pink Pajamas

...and other things that make me childish:

• I play hopscotch and other sidewalk games.
• I jump in the pool. Sometimes. Other times I do sit beside it with my feet in the water like a normal grown-up.
• I pout. I cry easily, and am easily cheered up by nonsense.
• I play video games.
• I read children's books. Everything from Diary of a Wimpy Kid to Magic Treehouse books... all the way up through Young Adult romance novels.

And yes, I wear pink pajamas. All. The. Time. I love them. I'm a full-grown adult by miles and miles, so I shouldn't care about pink pajamas. But here I am, with three sets of them. Plus my pink Pooh-bear shirt, which I count as pajamas with a certain set of super-soft pants that are similarly themed, though they aren't of Winnie the Pooh.

Why pink pajamas? I think I enjoy feeling like a marshmallow peep. Soft and squishy. The 'jamas I'm wearing now are technically white with tiny pink flowers, and pink sewn along the hems of the shorts, but that would have been a long blog post title. I should make some coffee, but honestly I feel like having chocolate milk.

Alegretto and Melanthe Again

I'm procrastinating a simple task and keeping my mind off of something unpleasant; either of these endeavors might lead me to read, and today offers no exception. So. I read a few more pages of my beloved For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale, and this scene with Alegretto is perfection. I share it here:

[Ruck, the hero, enters the room to see Melanthe in nothing but a kirtle, cut open at the sides to expose bare flesh from ankles to waist, ooh la la]

As she chose a necklace and belt of copper gilt and black enamel, the youth at his side moved, sliding a grin at Ruck, lolling across the bed to pluck the jewelry from her hands.


She bent her head as he clasped the necklace at her nape and smoothed his fingers down her throat. He was sixteen, mayhap less, scarce half her age or Ruck's, with black hair and skin as soft as hers. He stroked her as a lover would, bending to fasten the belt about her waist, kissing her shoulder as he did it.

I just love this entire scene. Laura Kinsale is my hero.