Archive

fairy tales

Kiss me, stupid. And you’ll wonder why it took you so long to do so in the first place. You’ll blink when we finally stop, before kissing me again. Just because you can.

Kiss me, and you’ll wonder what it was you ever saw in using your mouth to eat, or drink, or talk. Such superfluous activities, that do nothing but take time away from the minutes, hours, and days that could be spent locking our lips.
If I tell you to kiss me, kiss me. It may come as a surprise to you, that a woman who uses words in every aspect of her daily existence, should find the utterance of two tiny, monosyllabic words so very daunting – but I do. It’s daunting because when I tell you to kiss me, there’s a chance that you won’t. And that’d be stupid. So, kiss me. Stupid.
Kiss me because you’ve run out of words to say. Kiss me because it’s Monday. Or Tuesday. And Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, too. Kiss me on every day that ends in a ‘y’. Kiss me because it makes sense to you. And if the stars and planets have aligned, whilst the moonlight smolders in the sky, and the crickets produce the soundtrack to it all – well, then, kiss me. How many signs do you really need?
Kiss me to take my breath away; I’ve always had too much anyway. Kiss me to leave me speechless; I always talk too much. Kiss me to make my head swirl and my knees weak; standing up straight is overrated. Kiss me to thrill me to death; living is always better when there’s risk.
So, kiss me. 
Stupid. 
Or, I’ll just kiss you.
Advertisements

Date a writer. Not only will she mean every word she ever uses, but she’ll also choose words that let you understand just how much you mean to her.

Date a writer. Your lives will be filled with magic from which she’ll find inspiration. She’ll immortalise your magical moments in words that will live long after you’ve both passed on. And who knows? Perhaps your own love story will inspire other not to settle for anything less than magical, either.

Date a writer. Because whilst she may not know precisely how to begin, or where it will end, the journey will always be worthwhile.

Date a writer. And discover a world you didn’t know existed, with a woman who always knew that it did.

Date a writer. Learn new words everyday. Whether she uses them in a loving moment that takes your breath away, or in a rage during which she condemns your preponderance toward hyperbole or the discombobulating manner in which you conduct yourself, you’ll never hear the same words twice.

Date a writer. For the attention to detail to which she will give everything cannot be matched. And happily ever after means more to her than just a phrase found at the end of a Fairy Tale.

Date a writer. And live a life filled with letters in your coat pockets; notes beneath your pillow, and a smile upon your face at every word she’d written.

Love a writer. Because if you mean it, she will return your love tenfold. And if you don’t, the pain and anguish you cause her will give her writing added depth, and ground the words she uses in her book.

Love a writer. For all of her idiosyncrasies and habits. She may not be able to sleep without rubbing her feet together, or won’t write until she’s procrastinated for seven hours by rearranging the furniture, but love her, and her writing. Because every piece she writes carries a little bit of her soul, a little bit of her very being, in it. And if you can’t take the time to read it, she’ll never give you another piece – of her writing, or her heart. But if you love it – and her – tell her. She’ll feel more proud than if she’d won a Pulitzer Prize.

So, date a writer. Or better yet, love one. And never lose her.
Love a writer.