04.

The corners of their lips followed the same upward direction as their eyes rising to catch mine staring. Smirking they'd ask "What? Do you think we're emo or something?" I'd shake my head, avert my gaze. "I think you're pathetic." They would take this in as their sleeves and smirks fell, some shrugging on jackets - sadness and anger being covered back up for the time being. Sometimes they look as if they've seen the relation and revelation in my eyes, and sometimes they don't get it at all.

02.

This one's for you.

Because you are keeping my legs from folding.

01.

Your eyes have the glare of midnight in Manhattan yet weakness shutters in them like coins in a gutter when you stare up at me. Blink twice and affix your eyes to the ripples of the night sky. There's nothing there I can't find in your reflection.

Words are beautiful (and I'm gonna start posting more of them).

Words are beautiful.

I remember I used to carry around a notebook, recycled paper cover with lined banana paper interior, just to jot down poems and capture one-liners and write down phrases that gave me the same gratification as whispering the phrase "saying something sweet" slowly does. In high school, I wrote whenever I felt the urge to, like my body was saying "Okay, I've taken in all the information I can, you need to let it out now." And I want to do that again.

Or well, challenge myself to do that again. Because I miss it.

So! 

Starting on the first day of my winter break, I will be posting something consistently once a day for a month just to try and get back into the writing spirit. And it won't all be good -- a lot of it will be really bad -- and a lot of it will be really random -- and a lot of it will be really short -- but that's okay. Because even when words are stumbling and tripping over their own feet, they're still beautiful to me. For now, though, any post titled with a number is just a post with words that I wanted to get out and store somewhere.