i’d go to your show, just to hear about your day.

Life is a collection of little lives. Each one lived one day at a time.

It has been my greatest fear for the longest time that Im not living the way I should be. So on a day filled with gladiola’s and summer skirts, I tackled this fear; defining the collection of my little lives.

Life is wearing yellow chappals to the riverside, sipping cider and calling out to the swans. It’s murmuring the words of Roethke to yourself as sun streams in through your window. It’s waking him up in the morning to mandarin yogurt and sticky kisses. It’s having orange tulips and yellow daffodils nod and smile at you from your windowsill – courtesy of warm friends who make up the blueprints of your days. Its sprawling with him in the corner of his living room writing magical fables about chocolate&coffee while balloons waft around you. It’s obssessing over cold tangerines, daydreaming about the juice trickling deliciously down your chin. It’s about collapsing on your friends bed, wailing “I’m annoyed!”, while she lovingly “oh honey’s” you and feeds you candy.

It’s about running by the river to class, blaring florence&themachine and thinking this would be the perfect day to believe in love again. It’s about romance in its most subtle forms; sharing plates & washing hair. It’s being told to stay after class, to be praised for heartfelt scribbles instead of being scolded for groaning (too loudly) over math. It’s about random bump-in’s with portugal, and laughing out loud, as you’ll kiss loudly and smackily, and then literally run to separate lives. It’s lyrics&literature with your creative soulmate over ripplingwaters and caffeine. It’s giving chocolate to your favourite busdriver, because he always lets you linger over your cigarette on cranky Monday mornings. It’s jerking in your sleep due to aching hearts and hurting heads, only to have him (in his sleep) shush you soothingly, kiss your neck and tell you that everything will be fine.

You believe him, because everything is already fine. Better than that even. The lives might be little; especially to strangers. To me, I can’t imagine it being more beautiful.

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