Lady of the Blue Rose

There once was a beautiful princess who lived in a far away castle with her father, the king. The queen, her mother, had died years ago when the princess was just a little girl. The king was never able to mend his broken heart and remarry.

He brought in the best tutors for the girl, who grew into a smart and beautiful young woman.

One day the king fell ill and was unable to govern the land. The princess, being a young girl devoted to her father, had never married and was unfit to rule according to the law of the land set down by her ancestors. Her father did not wish to force his only daughter into a loveless marriage for the sake of the kingdom, knowing that she would resent his decision and hate him for the rest of her days. However, he also knew that his days were growing shorter.

He called his daughter to his room late one night.

“My dear daughter,” he said as she kneeled beside his bed and took his hand. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman; your mother’s light shines through your eyes.”

“Thank you, father.” she said.

“But as you know, my days are numbered. I fear I shall not make it through this illness…”

She shook her head, “Please don’t speak that way, father. Your heart is strong, you shall...”

He stifled a laugh and began coughing. After clearing his throat, he said, “Ah, my heart has endured an unbearable pain for many years. And I never want you to suffer as I have. You must take a husband, daughter.”

She nodded.

“You must choose someone worthy of your love, my dear daughter. This shall be your choice and your choice alone, so choose well. Do you understand?”

“I understand, father. Rest now. I shall come and visit you again in the morning.”

The princess placed a kiss on her father’s cheek and watched as he shut his eyes for sleep. He never opened them again.

The princess held a great contest to find her husband. She announced that she would marry the first man who brought her a single blue rose.

Many thought she was insane for her request, for nowhere in the land did blue roses grow.

The princess remained resolute, “Any man who truly wishes to marry me will find a way.”

Princes, lords, dukes, and other distinguished gentleman came from all corners answering the princess’ challenge.

The first suitor was a wealthy prince from another kingdom who wished to form an alliance between the two lands with his marriage to the princess. When he set eyes on the princess, he was struck by her beauty.

The princess greeted him with a graceful bow. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Have you brought what I’ve asked?” she prompted him.

The prince smiled and clapped his hands together. A servant, dressed in fine silks, entered the room carrying a glittering gold box, ordained with colorful jewels. He opened the box and pulled out a beautiful rose crafted of gold and jewels.

“Your blue rose, my princess.”

She princess eyed the object curiously. “What is this?”

“The stem is crafted of pure gold and, see here, those are bits of jade and emerald to make the leaves. The center holds a flawless diamond. And here, the pedals are polished sapphire. It is a beautiful specimen, not unlike yourself, Princess.”

The princess frowned. “This is not what I’ve asked for. This is not a blue rose; it is not even a flower. This is an ornament – a symbol of your vast wealth. It means nothing to you.”

“I don’t understand. Will you not marry me? You would refuse me?”

“You have not done what I asked. You have not brought me a blue rose.” She answered simply.

The prince began to get angry. “What you asked is impossible! There is no such thing as a blue rose.”

“You did not put any thought into this. Instead, you used your wealth to create a solution. And what you have produced is nothing more than something to display, something that tells of your wealth, something pretty. I will not be your pretty little wife, serving as a testament to your wealth. You care nothing for the simplicity of a flower and, therefore, cannot care for me. No, I will not marry you.”

The prince stormed off, never to return to the kingdom again.

The princess saw a great deal of suitors, all bearing a “blue rose.” But none to her satisfaction. After months of searching, she was tempted to give up but she remembered her father’s words and saw one last suitor.

He was a young apprentice to a textile maker. He had very little money, but had heard of the princess’ challenge and believed he had a solution.

“Have you brought what I’ve asked?” she asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I believe so, Princess.” He showed her the flower he had brought along with him. It was a flawless blue rose.

The princess took the flower in her hands and examined it. “What trick is this?”

The young apprentice was confused. “I don’t understand, Princess. Is this not what you asked for?”

“Indeed it is. A bit too well, I'd say. How did you accomplish this?”

“First, I took a simple white rose and dyed the pedals using a dye from my master’s shop. But the flower wilted hours later from the damage. I knew such a quick solution would not survive the journey to your kingdom. So, instead, I thought to place the dye in the water feeding the flower. And there you have your blue rose. Is it to your liking?”

“It’s perfect. You have brought me what I’ve asked for, using resources available to you. You would not risk the simple beauty of a flower to easily please me, but rather created something new and unique for me to enjoy. You not only considered my happiness, but the well-being of another living thing: the flower.”

“I am glad you are pleased, Princess.”

“As you know, my father was taken away from me by an illness that weakened his body, but his heart had died long before that. He warned me against a hasty decision in my marriage because he wanted me to love with all my heart, just as he did. I set this challenge to find a man worthy of my love.”

The apprentice’s heart sank. “I am not worthy to love a princess.”

She smiled. “I am much more than a princess.”

.:~o*’Kaylyn’*o~:.

Laziness, Thy Name is Kaylyn

Okay, so I started a story a few weeks ago. Just a random idea: nothing too important. Anyway, I really wanted something spectacular for the ending but I couldn't get the language right. Anyway, for those of you who were wondering about the ending--all 3 of you--I figured I shouldn't just abandon y'all. (I really am trying to work on that problem: finishing things, especially writing)

So, here you go, (a summary of) the ending:

Quinn and the leader of the bandits charge each other. The bandit's movements are rash, violent and harshly contrasted by Quinn's swift and easy movements. Quinn is able to block the blows of the man, with little effort. First blood is awarded to Quinn, who clips the man's cheek with the tip of his sword. He's angered, but doesn't react. He only smirks, wipes away the blood with his forearm and lunges at Quinn once again.

The larger man guarding Ellie shouts to his boss, urging him to "Take him down!" Ellie keeps her eyes closed tightly, just as she was told by her brother. She can hear the swords clatter together, but can't tell who's winning.

"You fight very well for a man who steals," Quinn comments as they continue to circle one another. The man says nothing. He spins and attacks Quinn once more. Quinn blocks the blow easily and notices the fatigue setting in on the other man. He gets an idea.

Quinn leads the man back with a series of quick maneuvers. Shuffling back quickly, the man clumsily trips over a tree root and falls flat on his ass. Quinn stands over the bandit, his sword held at the man's neck. "Remember our agreement," he says before offering a hand to the bandit leader, who takes it and is helped up.

Relieved, Quinn begins to walk towards Ellie and tells her to open her eyes. Just as she does, the bandit leader plunges a concealed dagger into Quinn's back. Ellie shrieks. Quinn drops to the ground.

The leader, along with the larger man flee the scene. Ellie rushes over to her brother. There is so much blood. Ellie begins sobbing, pleading with Quinn to get up. He tries to calm her, but the pain is beginning to numb his senses. The light in his eyes flickers in his last few moments.

"Quinn..." Ellie cries. "You can't leave me. Please."

"I'll never leave you." His voice is barely that of a whisper. He take her small hand, which is trembling. "Ellie, I'll watch over you. Always."

With that, Quinn's eyes roll back in his head. Ellie buries her face in her brother's chest and cries.

A strong wind blows through the forest.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Filler [You're welcome Jazz]

Because I'm really stuck on the story but I still want to post regularly:

1. What time did you get up this morning?
9:45a
2. How do you like your steak?
Between two buns. :)
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows AT MIDNIGHT, BITCHES!
4. What's your favorite television show?
Law and Order: SVU
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
New Orleans.
6. What did you have for breakfast?
I didn’t.
7. Your favorite cuisine?
Grandmaw’s.
8. What foods do you dislike?
A lot.
9. Favorite Place to Eat?
In bed.
10. Favorite dressing?
Italian.
11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
2002 Hyundai Accent, silver.
12. What are your favorite clothes?
Jeans.
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
London, England. *fingerscrossedstudyabroadsummer2011*
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
Poisoned.
15. Where would you want to retire?
Florida. I hear that’s where all the cool old people go.
16. Favorite time of day?
Night.
17. Where were you born?
In a hospital.
18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
I guess football.
19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
Everyone. Because I don’t write notes.
20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
No one. I don’t write notes.
21. Who are you most curious about their responses?
These questions are pretty silly.. I don’t really care what anyone else’s responses are.
22. Bird watcher?
No.
23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Night owl all the way.
24. Do you have any pets?
Yes, I have a monkey and a puma. ;)
25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
I made a 91 on the Mathnasium exam and have “try out/interview” tomorrow! Super exciting.
26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Amber.
27. What is your best childhood memory?
Jamaica.
28. Are you a cat or dog person?
Dog. Cats are evil.
29. Are you married?
Not to my knowledge… but I have missplaced a few hours due to some drinking.
30. Always wear your seat belt?
Religiously.
31. Been in a car accident?
Two.
32. Any pet peeves?
Many.
33. Favorite pizza topping?
Pepperoni.
34. Favorite Flower?
Blue roses. :)
35. Favorite ice cream?
Chocolate chip cookie dough.
36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Checkers. Or Rally’s (just for you, Mel!)
37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
Once.
38. From whom did you get your last email?
Which account?
39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Barnes&Noble.
40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
Nope.
41. Like your job?
One of them.
42. Broccoli? Steamed or with cheese?
No.
43. What was your favorite vacation?
20th birthday trip to HARRY POTTER LAND!!!
44. Last person you went out to dinner with?
My boyfriend and my sister.
45. What are you listening to right now?
This girl in the lab who obviously learned how to whisper in a saw mill… with the saws running.
46. What is your favorite color?
Blue.
47: Favorite Band?
Band? Do they still make those?
48: Favorite Beer?
None.
49: Favorite Comfort Food?
Fried porkchops and mashed potatoes.
50: Favorite way to relax?
Reading.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

More Story Time

I stood between Ellie and the bandits. Her small fingers clung to the back of my shirt. From behind my back, she peaked out at the group of men ready to kill us.

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a quiet tone.

"Yes, Evergard," the leader chimed in. "What will you do? Would you really expose her to such bloodshed? Make her endure the sight of your cold corpse?"

Ellie dug her fingers further in.

My heart was pounding. I was certain I could exterminate these men with little difficulty, but I had to protect Ellie.

"I won't fight you all," I said at last. They all grinned in delight.

"That makes this easier," said the one who had twisted Ellie's arm. He began reaching for his weapon.

"I haven't finished... I only wish to fight the best among you."

They exchanged glances. Then the leader asked, "And what makes you think we care about your wishes?"

I smirked. "Simple: You gain the honor of saying you bested Quinn Evergard, nephew of the emperor, legendary swordsman. Just ask your man there."

The leader looked towards the frightful one. He nodded. The leader began to stroke his chin. "Is that all then? A story--that is the grand prize? I--,"

"You get me. If I lose, I'll be your slave."

Ellie squealed. "Brother, no!"

They all laughed. "Take it, boss!"

When they were finished laughing, the leader spoke again. "High stakes, Evergard. And if you win?"

"I'll spare all your lives. All I ask is that you leave these lands. If I catch you stealing from the good people of my uncle's empire again, I shall have you imprisoned and sentenced to the full extent of the law."

The fearful one's eyes widened. He knew the punishment for thievery.

"Do we have an agreement, gentlemen?"

They thought it over for a moment. One of his men was too afraid to face me. "I am not fit to cross blades with him," he said. He laid his weapons down in the dirt as a sign of peace. I noticed he had a sword strapped at his side but he produced a dagger from within his boot. Disappointed at his lack of courage, the leader thrust the reigns of his horse towards him. He gladly took them and led the animal away.

"Guess I'll be fighting you, then. However, I have a condition of my own."

I gave him a curious look. The audacity! "Oh?"

"The girl. She stays with him," he pointed to his rougher inferior. "I want to be sure there will be no tricks from you. A fair fight: She won't be harmed as long as you don't try anything."

I could feel Ellie trembling behind me. "Please..."

"Do I have your word on that?"

"On my honor."

"Deal." I turned towards Ellie to see tears running down her cheeks. Her eyes pleaded with mine. She shook her head slowly, her fingers holding tightly to my forearms. I walked her over to where the other man was standing very slowly.

He took her somewhat roughly.

The blood ran hotly through my veins. "If you harm one hair on her head, so help me..."

He grinned. "Then I suggest you be on your best behavior."

I drew my weapon, "Ellie, shut your eyes."

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Story Time!

Haven't had a story in a while... Let's fix that:
______

It was my favorite time of day: The quiet time when all is still as the sun breathes her last sigh before yielding to the twilight hour. I lay with my back cushioned by the soft blades of grass, staring up at the sky.

“Where do you think we go when we die?”

It wasn’t the question so much as the interrupting voice which startled me. I turned over on my side and looked at Elsa. She was on her back as well, with her fingers laced behind her head. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful; like a fallen angel.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” I responded. In truth, I had thought about death many times but I didn’t want to frighten her. She was only a child; sure pure, so innocent. She probably had a naïve little fantasy about death. I imagine she thought people went quietly, painlessly as if they fell asleep one night and never woke again.

I knew better.

Still, I entertained her thought. “I don’t know, Ellie, where do you think we go when we die?” Her lips twitched as if she would say something, then she paused. She opened her eyes and stared up at the sky.

“I want to go some place nice. Like… there.” She pointed upwards.

“That would be a nice place to go.”

“Yes, and I would watch over all the people I loved and protect them. I would lie on a cloud all day and just watch the people down below. And if they were in trouble, I would send a strong wind to warn them.”

I thought about her idea for a moment. It sounded nice. Much better than the alternative. “Would you protect me?”

She looked at me without turning over. “You don’t need me to protect you. You’re my big brother. You don’t need protection.”

“I would if something ever happened to you. I would if you went to live there,” I motioned towards the sky. “Ellie, if you left me…” I couldn’t finish my statement. Equal amounts of fear, anger, and despair began to stir in my heart. I wasn’t quite sure what the next words out of my mouth would have been.

She closed her eyes once again. I wasn’t sure if she had heard me. We remained in silence for a moment. Then she said, “We should head home. They’ll be lighting the torches soon.”

“Aye,” I nodded. I stood and offered my hand to her. She took it and dusted her skirts once she was standing. I picked the stray pieces of grass from her hair and shoulders. Her face twisted into a frown. She hated when I played with her hair.

She looked up at me with a familiar twinkle in her eye. “Ready?”

“You first.”

She giggled and ran off towards the path home. I watched as she made her way to the edge of the forest. I remained in my place, giving her a bit of a head start as always. Eight… Nine… I began running after her.

The forest was quiet now. I could hear her little feet as they trampled over the leaves dusting the forest floor. She tried to be clever this time, weaving around trees and darting in different directions. I kept running after her in good fun but I never took my eyes off her.

Then I heard something which chilled me: Horses.

“Ellie! Ellie!” I called after her. “Slow down. Ellie, come to me.”

But it was too late. Ellie’s footsteps had stopped. I heard the men’s voices on the air. They were laughing. I knew she had been caught.

There were 3 men, each dressed in black. Bandits. Two of the men held Ellie by her arms while the third man remained on his horse watching. She was fighting to be let go, but they held her tight.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” said the man on the horse. “What are you doing here alone?”

I stepped forward. “She’s not alone. Let her go. Now.”

One of the men holding Ellie smirked. There was a familiar hunger in his eyes as he looked at me. The other one looked as though he had seen a ghost. Both remained in their positions waiting for orders from their leader.

“Why would I do a thing like that? She’s such a charming young girl… How much do you think she’d fetch at the slave auction? I know some men who would pay handsomely for a girl her age.” He began laughing as did his men. I wanted to slit their throats.

Ellie began kicking and thrashing about. “No! No! I’ll never be a slave. Do you know who I am? I--,”

“Hush, child.” The man with the hungry look said. He twisted her arm behind her back and I saw Ellie wince.

The man on the horse raised his hand, “Enough.”

“So it is true… You’re him.” The other man holding Ellie said with a fearful waver in his voice.

The man on the horse looked from him to me. “Who is he?”

“That’s Quinn Evergard, the nephew of the Emperor. I’ve seen him on the battlefield. He’s the best sword in the land.”

I felt my anger rising. For years, I had protected Ellie from my deeds. She knew that I fought in the Emperor’s army, that I protected our family’s lands, but I had spared her the details.

“Is that so?” The man on the horse began stroking his chin. “Well, well, royal blood... Looks like we have struck gold here, men.

Ellie broke free and ran towards me. “Stand behind me.”

The bandit leader dismounted. He drew his weapon. “What’s it going to be, Evergard? There are three of us and only one of you.”

“One is plenty.”

“Ha! Well then, let the games begin!”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Mr. Right

My sister asked me what my "perfect" man would be like. I laughed and told her, well first, I'd have to believe in perfect. But after I thought about it, I liked the idea. So I guess my ideal man would probably be something like this:

Eyes. He'd have to have gorgeous eyes. I'm an eye girl. Light brown, green, hazel, etc. Something that pops.

Smart. I'd like him smart. Not annoyingly so, just enough to where I can carry on a conversation with him without getting annoyed or angry. But I'd have to be able to follow the conversation as well.

Passionate. Whether that's about painting or writing or saving orphans, he'd have to be passionate and dedicated.

That being said, committed. I'd hope he'd be committed to me, but my ideal man would not be wishy washy or flaky. He'd say he's going to do something and then do it. I love that in a person, especially a man. Conviction.

Kind. I don't want a hardened man. He'd have to be friendly, gentle, generally pleasant to be around.

Curious. I don't like people who feel like there's nothing left to learn about in the world. He'd have to be interested in travel or books. Learning.

Romantic. Oh yes, he would most definitely have to be romantic. Flowers just because. Dancing in the living room to a commercial. Surprise dinners. The whole nine.

Other than that, physical stuff isn't too important to me. I guess I'd want him at least as tall as me if not taller. But not freakishly so. A great head of hair would be nice. I do love running my hand through lush hair.

So, yeah, my ideal man. There ya go.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

P.S. - That being said, let me clarify that I love my boyfriend very much. And I am very happy with him. This is just what I'd like if I could craft my ideal man.

Temptation

Between borrowed moonlight
and stolen nights,
with gentle laughter
and body's delight,
they took their bond to new heights
and revealed in a state of excite.

She, pure in all things,
tricked him easily as the serpent did Eve;
offering the unblossomed fruit to her Adam-
a prize he could only previously fathom.

She, whose hunger grew with each kiss,
refused to pass a moment such as this.
And she begged him to be taken,
longing no more to be a maiden.

He, a gentleman in all respect,
failed to do what he felt correct.
Instead he gave into his weakness:
her and her one interest.

But he who quenched her appetite
began a torrid internal plight:
He had done what was asked
but was it truly right?


.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Statistics

I utterly respect Lyfe Jennings. He's one of the very few hip-hop/R&B male artists actually saying something with his lyrics and trying to better his target audience. He speaks about love--real love, practical love, tough love, lost love... He's just great. Some of his songs include: Must Be Nice, Hypothetically, Never Never Land, and S.E.X. (a personal favorite of mine). Seriously, check him out. His music is smooth, very easy to listen to.

Well, Lyfe has a new song. Statistics. This song is, for lack of a better word, scary. Here's a bit of the lyrics:

25% of all men are unstable
25% of all men can't be faithful
30% don't mean what they say
10% of the remaining 20% are gay
that leaves you with a 10% chance of ever finding your man.

15% of all men got a complex
15% don't practice safe sex
20% come from a home without a father
so you have a 50/50 chance of marrying a coward.

Now I don't know where Lyfe got his information from or if he's talking specifically about Black men, American men, or what. Still... 1 in 4 chance of infidelity? 1 in 2 chance of marrying a coward (which, he's really unclear as to what that could mean). Eep. And let's not even talk about the 15% of men practicing unsafe sex...

Just something to think about...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Someone call a plumber. We have a leak!

Haha. I'm clever.

Anyway:

Orphanarium

Case Number: 9601481
Author(s): Undetermined
Name: Not Assigned
Age: Not Assigned
Birthplace: Not Assigned
Genre: Undetermined

There’s no telling how long we’ve been here, in this place. I don’t know much about myself, but I do know I hate this place with every fiber of my being (whatever that being consists of). The main complex is falling apart. There are tiles missing from both the ceiling and the floor. The staff has attempted to cover these disgraces by doing what they can like hanging pieces of artwork over the cracks in the wall but even those are unfinished. Like so many of us.

Case Number: 2742408
Author(s): Undetermined
Name: Kim
Age: “high school”
Birthplace: Tulsa, Oklahoma
Genre: Young Adult

Another boring, boring day. This place is so sad. Nobody enjoys themselves. There’s no parties or dances or anything fun to do. Most of the others just sit around in their rooms and pout all day. I’m so glad my author was better than that. I have a personality. I have a name. I’m one of the lucky ones. The longer I stay here, I know just how lucky I am.

____

In case you can't tell by the layout changes and the multiple posts, I'm busy busy writing and blogging. Who knew boredom is the best inspiration?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

I refuse to write about the first day of school

Sorry to disappoint anyone. But although today is, in fact, the first day of a shiny new semester, the familarity of this semester outweighs any excitement I may have about starting again.

I will admit a few things have changed since last semester: I drove myself to school for the first time in a car that's completely mine. Yay! Both traffic and parking were a bitch though. I thought showing up an hour early would ensure at least a decent spot but I was sadly mistaken and ended up parking across the street from campus. Which means I'm not living on campus this go round either. In ways I miss living on campus (the simplicity, the ease of travel, not to mention the shortcuts that are impossible to take in a car... at least legally). Also, because my sister lives so far away, I have to be absolutely certain I don't forget anything. There will be no running back to my room real quick to grab something now. Sigh.

Also, I've only met 3 of my teachers today. One of which I had last semester so there was nothing special about that. The other was in a class of about 380 students so not much interaction there either. I am interested to see what my third professor's class will bring... She's like a mix of Mrs. Goodaker and Ellen. So maybe I'll blog about her class sometime later in the semester. But not today.

Today, I refuse to write about the first day of school.

.:~o*'Isianya'*o~:.

Inspired Inklings

You know, I had originally planned to frame this in a story. To mask my thoughts with quotes and narrative so that I could distance myself from this and its critique. But you know what? I'm tired of hiding. Part of being a writer (I think, at least) is knowing when to step back and write just for yourself sometimes. So here it is: a completely raw, honest look inside my head as I see it:

How do you know you're in love with a man?

You know you're in love with a man when you find yourself laying beside him, gently running your fingers through his hair watching as each strand folds under the pressure of your hand and springs back up again, poised and ready to be petted again; and you smile because you realize what a great head of hair he has and wishes he didn't cut it as often so you could appreciate moments like this all the time.

You know you're in love with a man when you begin to move your hand down to his face; carefully outlining his lips with your thumb, feeling the soft brush of his mouth against your finger and you sigh because you realize how gentle his kisses can be when placed upon your forehead, yet fiery and passionate when planted on your lips.

You know you're in love with a man your hand begins to turn and your palm scrapes against his chin and jawline; feeling the stubble he hasn't shaved yet because you surprised him by coming over so early (though you would have called ahead of time so he could properly prepare but you just wanted to see him so badly, you rushed right over without a second thought) and you realize he's perfect just as he is still in the t-shirt he wore yesterday and with bedhead.

You know you're in love with a man when he begins to stir from all your touches; when he smiles without opening his eyes and sighs, "Hey honey"; when he outstretches his arms to beckon you closer and you realize in his arms is exactly where you want to be.

You know you're in love with a man when you place yourself beside him so that your curves contour to his shape and he takes you in his arms and pulls you closer; and you realize your heart is beating faster.

You know you're in love with a man when he begins to slide his hands under your shirt, one over your bellybutton and the other rests on your chest, and you realize it doesn't matter whether you're sleeping in a big bed or on an old futon: this is the best position to fall asleep in.

You know you're in love with a man when you begin to drift to sleep yourself; when walls of the apartment fade away with each breath and you realize there is only one breath in the entire room: the two of you, together.

You know you're in love with a man when the rise and fall of his chest against your back in time with yours is like a gentle lullaby and the warm breath on your neck like a soft blanket enveloping you in security; and you realize this is how you wish to fall asleep every night for the rest of your life.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Kids Say the Darnest Things

Okay, so if you've talked to me in the past 2 months, you know I hate my job. Well, I guess I shouldn't say that. I can't complain about making $8.10 an hour, 6 hours a day, 5 days a week; never working past 6p; and having weekends and holidays off. But the children...!

I confess I do have a few favorites. Those are the ones that constantly remind me of the wide-eyed innocence of children, the carefree happiness that comes with no responsibility, and the stress-free outlook that accompanies not being able to think past age 12. I love those kids.

The problem is: There's only about 5 of them at daycare.

The others are selfish, temperamental, whiny, self-centered little bastards. Seriously. My coworker was approached by a crying little boy complaining about his classmate. "What's wrong?" she asked. The little boy sniffled and said, "Him won't play with me. Him said him not my friend." I looked over to see who the little boy was pointing to. The irritation seethed in my being. The crying boy was pointing at a kid I can only describe as a mini psychopath: All the crazy, half the size. I rolled my eyes and said, "Adam (that's the psychopath's name, Adam) is being a dick." Before this job, I would have never used that word to describe someone. Let alone a 9-year-old.

Still, the kids manage to teach me things. They open my eyes to how kids now see the world and what they're being taught by the media.

For example: There's this girl at daycare. Her name is Tatjana. We call her "Tot" for short; like Tater Tot. Tatjana is going to fifth grade. She's 10. And she's on a diet. One day while I was making my rounds about the lunch tables she shows me a picture of an outfit and says, "When I get skinny, I'm going to dress like this." Tatjana breaks my heart. Honestly, she does. She tells me things like, "This is part of my eating plan." It's part of her diet--which, according to her, is not just a diet but a "lifestyle". 10 year olds shouldn't have lifestyles! The saddest thing is Tatjana is not overweight by any means.

Then there's Emily. The funniest, liveliest, ...loudest girl at daycare. Emily's going to third grade. We were riding the bus on our way back from The Children's Museum and I was texting. When I was done, Emily caught a glimpse of my wallpaper. She looks at me and says, "Is that your boyfriend?" I told her yes. Instead of asking his name or how long we've been dating or even if I love him, Emily asks "Is he skinny?" I was floored. I asked her why she would ask me a question like that and she replies flatly, "Because skinny is better." If Emily were about 10 years older, I would have gave her some quippy response along the lines of Not if they're an ass. But Emily, being a kid, knows nothing about tact and says exactly what she thinks. All. The. Time. She's brutally honest, emphasis on brutal.

Another one is Isaac. Isaac is a little less favorable than Emily or Tot. He's a spoiled brat. Full meaning on both words. At daycare, we have a video game console. And the children each get a turn to play for a certain amount of time. They share and take turns. Now, while some of you may be following this concept perfectly, Isaac has a hard time grasping it. He wanted to play the game after Adam (Yes, mini-psycho Adam). I told him I'd come get him after Adam was finished playing. Well, Adam was playing with 2 other boys who got off the game before their turn was up. I told Isaac he could go play. He goes over to the game and refuses to play. I asked him what the problem was and he says, "I want to play the game!" I told him this was his chance. He starts to get upset saying he wanted to be first player. I explained to him that Adam was still playing but if he wanted to play (like he asked to), now was his chance. He starts huffing and puffing and getting angry saying, "But I want to be first player!I never get to be first player! I never get anything I want!" Because Silverstone doesn't run on vegetable oil, I use all my strength not to hit this little boy. I told him very calmly that I'm giving him exactly what he asked for: to play the game. Isaac storms off and starts crying angrily. He screams he hates daycare, wants to go home and never come back. If only I could have gotten that in writing...

These kids have taught me so much this summer. I feel I have a better understanding of the next generation. And I'm pretty scared.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Unexpected Inspiration

I was unexpectedly hit by a bit of inspiration in a very unlikely place: While watching So You Think You Can Dance. While the context of this quote is unimportant (and would require entirely too much explanation for those not familiar with the show), the quote stuck with me. Nigel Lythgoe, one of the judges and executive producer, said to one of the dancers: "Sometimes we forget to dance because we let the steps get in the way."

This stood out to me because it spoke to me. Sometimes we forget to just dance because we let the "steps" get in the way. The way we were taught to do things. They way we think they're supposed to be done. The so-called correct way. I've dragged some of my more reserved friends to clubs many times and they tend to echo the same sentiment, "Oh, I'm not sure I can do this. I can't dance like that." But dance, much like life, is not about the method. So often we are caught up in how we're being perceived that we forget how we are being presented. When I'm out on the dance floor, I just ride the music and forget everything. I forget how I'm being perceived and what's presented is confidence. And a little bit of sexy on a good night.

Lately I've been battling a lot of combating thoughts and trying to balance a lot of mixed emotions. I've been trying to learn the steps. Learn the right way to handle this situation I find myself in. Tonight I realized that I just need to dance. To live. To follow my instinct and just feel it.

Here I go...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Stroke of brilliance..?

So I've just been hit by possible inspiration. I dunno. But I'm typing very fast to get this down. and I'm putting it here because a) I want to find it and B) I want to put something less depressing up.

Okay. So. My new(est) idea is this: Orphanarium.

What happens to abandoned ideas? Books that are never completed? Songs that are never sung? Paintings never finished? ...They go to the Orphanarium.

The Orphanarium is a place like no other: Where it's inhabitants are characters from stories that haven't been fully developed; it's walls are covered with incomplete art; over the loud speakers plays bits of music that haven't been finished.

But what happens when the Orphanarium's newest residents begin to make their own lives? Complete their own stories...

Awesome right?

Ironically, this idea will metaphorically end up at the Orphanarium. Haha.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[i'm]perfection

There's no such thing as a perfect human. There couldn't be even if I believed in such things. "Perfect human" is a definition oxymoron. (As is "normal human" but that's another discussion)

All of us are the sum of our actions. Think about it. When your friend mentions someone, what's the first thing your mind goes to? "Oh, so-and-so? Is the one who did that small, insignificant thing that one time?" Yeah. Case and point.

I guess I've been wondering lately if people change. Do I believe people can change? Can I? Have I? If I did something once, what's the possibility of me doing it again? Even if the thing was a horrible deed that I would never want to do again... What distinguishes between mistake and habit? How do I know if it was a one-time thing or the beginning of a pattern?

I'm scared. I used to not trust other people. Now I'm not sure if I trust myself. If I can be trusted. If should be trusted. I don't think I want to keep another man's heart only to break it. I don't want to cause anymore pain.

We're supposed to learn from our mistakes. What have I learned? Did I even give myself time to learn? Sit back and look at my choices... I'm trying to put everything in order much too late, I think.

One day I'll have the answer to all these questions.

One thing's for sure though: I can't do this anymore.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

so chris taylor can think he's demanding

"Blood Bayou" pt 2

After this night, all will be changed.

Her words lingered in my ear. I didn't want to think much about this night or what she meant by that statement. My thoughts begin to trail back two nights before this...

I'm in the bar, sitting there with a half-emptied pint in my hand. I sip it slowly, not in any rush to return home because, honestly, there's nothing left for me to go home to. My thumb idly brushes against the handle as I let my thoughts sink into the deep, amber liquid inside.

"Got somehtin' on yer min' der, eh James?" The bartender says but I don't hear him.

"I say, James, it ain't gonna drink i'self wit ya jus starin!" he muses, a bit louder this time so that not only I hear him but the two men sitting on either side of me turn their heads in attention as well.

"Oh, uhm, sorry Domino." I take a big gulp, grimacing as the liquid burns its way down my throat. "Better?"

Domino fixes his mouth to make what I can only imagine is a smartass comment when his attention shifts to the door. A hush has fallen over the bar and all the patrons have their heads turned towards the door as well now.

I follow suit and find myself staring at a very strange individual. He stumbles in, a noticeable gait in his stride, hobbles over to the end of the bar and motions for Domino to poor him a drink. He nods. The place is silent... save the sound of the stranger's drink whishing into his cup. Those that seem to know him watch the bar with a suspicious glare. Those that don't fear him all the same.

I was no exception.

My mind is racing with inquisitions. But I know better than to voice them now. Slowly, the other patrons begin whispering, murmuring, muttering until the place is filled with conversation and laughter once more. A few people still side-eye the stranger as he drinks in solidarity but there is no interaction.

When Domino comes to refill my drink, I give a slight inclination of my head towards the end of the bar as if to say What's this about?

He shakes his head. You don't want to know.

Fine. I shrug.

Two refills later, drunken light-headedness begins to set in. The bar becomes a blur of dim light and sound. Now, I am ready to go home. I drop some money on the counter (probably much more than the cost of my drinks now that I think about it)and make my way out of the bar. Everything is spinning. I feel sick. A cool sensation graces my face. I'm laying on the gravel.

The sound of approaching footsteps grows louder. "You're much sadder than I thought." A voice says.

A shadowy silhouette is all I'm able make out. I say nothing. I just want to lay in the street and wait for death.

"James Bordeaux..."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know much more than that."

Then, he begins telling me of a way I can solve all my problems. He describes a woman like no other; a woman who could help me. My interests are peaked. "Where can I find her?"

He gives me the directions. Of sorts. I am to venture into the deepest parts of the bayou. Not many men dare to travel in the bayou since the disappearances and bodies turning up on the banks. Still, I listen to the man standing over me until he says he must leave. As he walks away, I notice his walk is not sturdy. Before I can stand and chase after him, he's gone.

And so I'm here, staring at Madame LaFleur...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Time for a bit of Scheduled Maintainence

Well, it's that time of the year again. The end. At least, academically speaking. So, of course, as I look around, a lot of my friends seem to be doing a great deal of reflecting. It almost seems inevitable at this point. How was the school year? What am I looking forward to this summer? What am I up to? Blah blah blah...

I have no desire to reflect on this past semester. I did what I could. Period. Whether you take that as what I wanted to or what I'm actually capable of, that's up to you. I'm satisfied with my grades. End of story.

So I'm going to take this time to reflect. Inwardly. (I'm really just going to free write at this point. I just need to flush out some thoughts)

I have so many thoughts on my mind, really. Some fully formed. Some just whispers. Some fading memories. Everything all jumbled up inside my mind. I find it hard to give these thoughts voice. Hearing them out loud makes it harder for them to go away. It's easy to push thoughts back to the deep, dark recesses of your mind but words... Words are a different beast altogether.

I once wrote that writing makes it real. Well, spoken words tend to have that affect as well. Not only do you hear what you're feeling, fearing, worried about.. but someone else will as well. Whoever you're telling now bears all that plagues you. Now they share the anxiety. And, to me, that's just not fair. I don't want anyone else to carry my cross. I'd rather be crushed under the weight myself. That way, I'm the only one who suffers.

There is one person who I trust completely. One person who I know I can tell my secrets to without fear of sharing burdens. That is because this girl is the strongest person I know. Nothing can break her. She's a phoenix. I've seen life throw so many things at this girl and still, she takes it all in stride, with a smile. I admire her. A little jealous, too. She never complains or whines (at least not to me). She's driven. She's my best friend.

There are so many things I wish to tell her...

Your Eyes are my Looking Glass

Your eyes are my looking glass:
my future tinted in blue.
To see myself
my life
my future,
I simply look to you.

When I don't see the forest
when I can't pass the tree
when I won't break through my thoughts
I just need you to look at me.

Show me my reflection,
magnify my imperfections.
Show me an image made to last
because your eyes are my looking glass.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

so chris taylor can think he's demanding

"Blood Bayou" pt 2

After this night, all will be changed.

Her words lingered in my ear. I didn't want to think much about this night or what she meant by that statement. My thoughts begin to trail back two nights before this...

I'm in the bar, sitting there with a half-emptied pint in my hand. I sip it slowly, not in any rush to return home because, honestly, there's nothing left for me to go home to. My thumb idly brushes against the handle as I let my thoughts sink into the deep, amber liquid inside.

"Got somehtin' on yer min' der, eh James?" The bartender says but I don't hear him.

"I say, James, it ain't gonna drink i'self wit ya jus starin!" he muses, a bit louder this time so that not only I hear him but the two men sitting on either side of me turn their heads in attention as well.

"Oh, uhm, sorry Domino." I take a big gulp, grimacing as the liquid burns its way down my throat. "Better?"

Domino fixes his mouth to make what I can only imagine is a smartass comment when his attention shifts to the door. A hush has fallen over the bar and all the patrons have their heads turned towards the door as well now.

I follow suit and find myself staring at a very strange individual. He stumbles in, a noticeable gait in his stride, hobbles over to the end of the bar and motions for Domino to poor him a drink. He nods. The place is silent... save the sound of the stranger's drink whishing into his cup. Those that seem to know him watch the bar with a suspicious glare. Those that don't fear him all the same.

I was no exception.

My mind is racing with inquisitions. But I know better than to voice them now. Slowly, the other patrons begin whispering, murmuring, muttering until the place is filled with conversation and laughter once more. A few people still side-eye the stranger as he drinks in solidarity but there is no interaction.

When Domino comes to refill my drink, I give a slight inclination of my head towards the end of the bar as if to say What's this about?

He shakes his head. You don't want to know.

Fine. I shrug.

Two refills later, drunken light-headedness begins to set in. The bar becomes a blur of dim light and sound. Now, I am ready to go home. I drop some money on the counter (probably much more than the cost of my drinks now that I think about it)and make my way out of the bar. Everything is spinning. I feel sick. A cool sensation graces my face. I'm laying on the gravel.

The sound of approaching footsteps grows louder. "You're much sadder than I thought." A voice says.

A shadowy silhouette is all I'm able make out. I say nothing. I just want to lay in the street and wait for death.

"James Bordeaux..."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know much more than that."

Then, he begins telling me of a way I can solve all my problems. He describes a woman like no other; a woman who could help me. My interests are peaked. "Where can I find her?"

He gives me the directions. Of sorts. I am to venture into the deepest parts of the bayou. Not many men dare to travel in the bayou since the disappearances and bodies turning up on the banks. Still, I listen to the man standing over me until he says he must leave. As he walks away, I notice his walk is not sturdy. Before I can stand and chase after him, he's gone.

And so I'm here, staring at Madame LaFleur...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

because I hate it when Aaron's disappointed with me

"Blood Bayou"

The bayou was thick with fog that night; an impassible, opaque, blanketing fog that warned all trespassers to turn back immediately. Stillness surrounded the area as far as the eye could see. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing lived. Save for the singing cicadas, the whining mosquitoes, and myself. The splish of my paddle sounded like gunfire against the dark waters. Each row echoed a thousand times over, as if the cypress trees were marking my every move; calling and answering to each other with each pass of my paddle. Yet, I continued on.

He said to keep going until I felt unwelcomed and uncomfortable. When I felt scared, I should paddle fifty more paces. And when I wanted to turn back, I should paddle ten. There I would find her, he said.

A low, guttural moan wavered on the wind. I stopped to listen for the source. With a shaky hand, I continued on. Forty-seven paces later, the moaning grew louder. It was a chilling wail that could only come from someone in a great deal of pain or distress. I swallowed hard, knowing I still had ten paces to go.

The cries grew louder, resonating through the bayou. It sounded as if it were coming from all directions. I craned my neck to see only darkness. I crossed myself as I glided deeper into the Devil’s playground, praying that God hadn’t abandoned me. I hoped the All Mighty would forgive me for the sins I would commit this night.

She was everything the whispers rumored: beautiful, enchanting, and haunting. She stared at me with deep, hollow eyes that bore into my soul. Her gaze fixed on mine and I found myself quickly entranced by her. I dared not move nor speak.

“You are very brave to come here alone,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly sweet for someone of her reputation. She almost sang the words through a gentle smile. But I tried not to allow myself to be swayed by her sly grin. She stood there, frozen, waiting on my reply. My eyes traveled down her slender figure, noticing her breasts; how they didn’t rise and fall to any rhythm, yet stayed there perched just beneath her neck. She wasn’t breathing.

After a moment of steadying my voice, I called back to her. “I seek Madame LaFleur. I am told--,”

“I know why you are here, James.”

Something deep within my spirit stirred at the sound of my name dripping from her lips.

“What must I do?”

She threw her head back and laughed with a vibrancy that shook the bayou. She extended her arm, beckoning me to her with a wave of her finger. “Come with me, dear James. After this night, all will be changed.”

.:~o*’Kaylyn’*o~:.

Unfinished Business

I want to complete something. Anything. Just take a story through a complete arc with an exposition, climax, and resolution. Just to present a character and have my reader(s) follow them through their journey, discovering more about that character with each step. Is that so hard to ask?!!

Well, considering the author, yes.

I've never finished any story. Ever. Oh sure, I've started a few... but they never really close. Sure, I have some ultra short, 2-3 pagers that I've completed but that's more of a newer thing.

I never finish anything. I know this. After 19 years, I should know this. But it's not for lack of wanting. I just... don't. Could it be some inner insecurities about having my writing judged so I protect myself by never finishing, shielding everything from the public eye? Or maybe I'm just a future suit-wearing, pencil-pusher who naively believed through her teenage and young adult years that she was creative or special in any way. I dunno.

I also don't know why I keep setting myself up for failure. NaNo. Script Frenzy (which page's count is currently 0/100 with 18 days to go). Collaborations with friends. Gaia.

Fail after fail after fail... And yet I keep writing.

Maybe I'm just impatient. Maybe I just haven't given myself enough time. Or, rather, devoted enough time to one project. I always get distracted or intrigued by a new idea and abandon a project I've labored over for weeks for a shiny new one. I get distracted very easily. Rome wasn't built in a day. Some novels take years to complete. And that's with writing everyday!

I must be crazy. But, hey, aren't the most interesting writers always?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

3 Small Words, 1 Big Difference

A very good friend of mine once wrote that love is "indescribable trust." And when I first read these words I don't think I knew what he meant by that. But an experience this weekend made me realize he's right.

My boyfriend and I were watching an episode of Nip/Tuck and I was having trouble focusing. My thoughts made it difficult to concentrate on.. well, anything really. When he asked me if I was alright, I of course said yes. He said it seemed like something was wrong. I apologized and we went back to watching. Well, he did. I looked over and noticed he was looking at me. "What?" I asked. He said something just didn't seem right, I seemed distant. After about the fourth round of this back-and-forth questioning, I finally told him what was bothering me. I should have known better than to try to hide something from him.

When I confessed, I broke into uncontrollable crying because my thoughts were so deep and scary. He gathered me into his arms and let me cry on his shoulder, touching me gently and softly whispering it's okay. When I calmed down enough to speak, we talked about everything I was thinking and feeling. He put me at ease, letting me know my thoughts weren't unwarranted, but that I had nothing to worry about. He told me he loved me. And love him for that and so much more.

What I realized from that moment was that I can trust him with even my darkest insecurities. And that's an amazing feeling, to know you can be so open and honest with someone and know you won't be met with opposition or ridicule for being foolish or not trusting in them. Or yourself. It took me months to realize this, but I now know I fully trust him. I love him. And he loves me.

I think I had a problem with this in the past. I loved someone, but I didn't trust him. I didn't feel I could tell him what I was truly feeling; my insecurities about myself or the relationship. And ultimately that was our downfall. Now I know you can't have love without trust. Not real, deep, true love. And I'm so sorry I had to hurt someone before I could figure this out.

The Bible says:

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:18

And I realize that I've been punishing myself for about 10 months now, afraid to trust anyone but Rachel with my concerns and insecurities.

Finally, I'm ready to stop doing that. I'm ready to trust completely, indescribably. I'm ready to have a perfect love. Even though I don't believe in the word perfect, I'm willing to try.

And I hope you're ready and willing to try with me.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Losing It

I want to challenge my writing. Expand it. Improve it. And one of the ways I've come up with for doing this (other than the obvious write more) is to write what I normally wouldn't write. Write about things I've never personally experienced. Write what I think should happen. What I think it looks like, tastes like, feels like. I think if I do this, then my writing becomes less of a disguised catharsis and more of a weaving of detail. I want to tell stories, to write novels, to be published. I just don't know if I want those stories to be my own anymore. This is weird because for so long it's been "Write what you know." But I want to break away from that. I feel like writing what I know is exactly that. I know. I know exactly how the story's going to end (or how I want it to end since I never actually finish anything) and every twist between. So I'm going to take a stab in the dark here and hope I hit something:

"Losing It"

I love my boyfriend very much. And I know he loves me. He doesn't say it much, but I know he does. He doesn't have to say it.

Our anniversary's coming up. It will be 4 months this Friday. I'm so excited! He won't tell me what we're doing though. I texted him the other day to ask him what I should wear and he just sent back: "w/e sumthin cute i guess" He's so mysterious.


Friday is here and I cannot wait to get out of school. Normally, I like my afternoon geometry class. My teacher says I'm one of her top students. But today is unbearable. I spent most of the hour drawing little hearts in the margin of my notebook instead of taking notes. I didn't even write down the homework. When that bell rings, it's like someone sent an electric shock through my body. I leap out of my seat and bolt for the door.

My boyfriend's waiting for me in the parking lot. I see him leaning against his car with his phone in his hands. He looks so cool standing there. I give him a smile as I walk up to him. "Hey you."

"Hey," he says not looking up from his phone. "I was just about to text you."

I giggle. "Well, here I am."

"So you are. Come here," he slides his phone into his pocket and reaches out his hand. Instead of pulling me into a hug like I expected him to, he lifts my arm above my head and spins me around. I feel my dress rise a little bit as I twirl. "You look great."

I feel my face get all hot and I know my cheeks are red. "Thanks."

"Come on, let's go." He pushes the unlock button on his keychain and walks around to the driver's side door. I toss my backpack on the backseat and go over to the passenger's side. He drives mostly with his left hand, except to turn, leaving his right hand free to rest on my thigh as we ride along.

I put my hand on top of his and look over at him. He steals glances over at me when he's not watching the road. We're stopped at a red light, I lean over and say, "I love you."

He nods. "Your mom cool with you coming over, right?"

"Uhm, yeah." I lie. My mom thinks I'm at Jenna's studying today after school and that she'll have to pick me up when I call. She lives just across the street and won't be back from dance practice until after 6.

"Awesome." I feel his right hand tighten its grip on my leg.

We pull into his driveway a few minutes later. I notice his dad's truck is missing. "We have the house to ourselves?"

"Happy anniversary." He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I turn my head to kiss him for real but he's already getting out of the car. I reach to the backseat and grab his gift from my backpack. It's the new cd from his favorite band. I saved up and got the 2-disc edition with concert footage because I remember him telling me he's never seen them in concert before but would like to someday.


His house is so quiet when we walk inside. It's completely empty. "Where's Bingo?" I ask.

He's looking down at his phone again. I wonder what he's doing because I didn't hear it go off or even vibrate. "Oh, uhm, yeah, my dad had to take him to the vet this afternoon. Come on, I want to show you something upstairs." He takes hold of my hand and leads me up the staircase to his bedroom.


He sits me down on the edge of the bed and goes to his desk drawer. He comes back with a small rectangular box. "Here, this is for you." he says holding out his hand. I could cry right now but I try to stay cool.

Before I can get out a Oh, you didn't have to get me anything, I open the box and see it: The most gorgeous necklace ever. It's a silver chain with a heart pendant in the middle. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

He sits down on the bed next to me. "Let me see it on you."

I turned my back slightly to him and pull up my hair into a ponytail with my hands. I feel the cool metal slip easily onto my neck, the heart resting gently between my breasts. Then, I feel something warm and smooth on my neck. It takes me a minute to realize my boyfriend is kissing me. He's never done that before. I want to ask him what he's doing, but I get this warm feeling all over, like slipping into a bathtub full of hot water. Something inside tells me to move away and so I do.

"What's the problem?" he asks.

"Nothing.It's just... I.. I-I haven't given you your gift yet." I pull out the cd and hand it to him.

He stares at it for a minute, his face still. Then he turns it over, reading the songs on the back. "Hm, I already have most of these. Oh, I downloaded this one a few days ago." He shrugs his shoulders and tosses the cd into a pile of clothes on the floor.

I frown. "I bought that one special. It has concert footage. Didn't you say you'd like to see them in concert one day?"

"Well, yeah, but you can get that stuff on youtube."

I feel so stupid. Why didn't I think of that? "I'm sorry." I say quietly.

"Don't worry about it. It was a sweet gift. You're a sweet girl." He says leaning in closer. He begins kissing me, but it's different this time. His kisses are hard, sloppy. I try to keep up with him but something catches my attention: His hands are roaming. I pull back.

"What are you doing?"

"Relax."

"But your hand was on my--,"

"You don't like it?"

"No. I mean, yes. Well, I don't know. You've never done that before." I blurt out all at once.

He smirks and leans in close so that his mouth is close to my ear. "Just relax," he whispers into my ear. His hot breath makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "It's our anniversary." His voice is low, confident, ...sexy. I swallow hard, trying to relax. I shut my eyes and he begins kissing me again.

I can feel his hands all over me touching, feeling, squeezing. I try not to think about it, because when I think about it I want him to stop. And when I don't think about it, it's the exact opposite. His hands slip under my dress and before long I hear a faint snapping noise. The sudden slack in my chest tells me what this means. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

Still kissing me, he slowly leans back onto the bed. I have no choice but to fall onto the bed with him or I'll break the kiss. His hands push my dress all the way up to my stomach. My legs instantly form millions of goosebumps on them. I feel the warm palm of his hand caressing my thigh, moving it's way to the back and then gripping the skin there tightly.

He breaks the kiss and my eyes fly open. I look up to see my boyfriend taking off his t-shirt. I've never seen his bare chest before. He lays back down on the bed, but this time with his leg on top of one of mine so I can't move away. I don't think about this though. Instead, I try to focus on my boyfriend's eyes. His stare seems different now. There's a spark of something shining out behind his hazel-green stare, but I can't name it.

He starts kissing my neck again, harder; more passionate than before. I can feel his teeth against my skin. I let out a cry. He moves his way up, kissing my neck, my jaw, my cheek... Soon, his mouth is back at my ear again. He exhales, warming my ear with his breath. "Let's see you out of that dress." he says in the same low voice as before. A pulsing sensation rushes down my spine. He moves his hands along my sides, pushing my dress further and further up. With ease, he removes my dress and unhooked bra and I'm left there in nothing but my panties.

I feel very self conscious with this much skin exposed. Goosebumps cover my whole body and I feel so cold. An astonishing feeling shocks me when I realize my boyfriend has one of my breasts in each hand, squeezing hard. He pinches the sensitive skin on my breasts between his index finger and thumb. I shut my eyes tight, trying not to think about this. But a painful sensation causes me to cry out.

Then, I hear the sound of his belt buckle as he slips off his jeans. He climbs on top of me in just his boxer shorts and positions himself directly above me. I can feel something solid pressing exactly between my legs; the weight of him pining me onto the bed. I love my boyfriend. Relax, relax, relax. Don't think, relax. I love him.

He leans in and kisses me on the lips. I reach my hands up to either side of his face and pull him closer. His tongue slips in and out of my mouth. The solid mass resting between my legs becomes more firm and my boyfriend starts pushing his hips against mine; grinding into me. I can't remain still. Without thinking, I begin to move with him until we have a comfortable rhythm together. The pulsing sensation in my lower back begins throbbing faster and faster. My head is beginning to feel light from trying not to think about anything.

What happens next is something my body expected but my brain hadn't prepared for. The pain is excruciating. It feels like someone is splitting me in half, right from the center. I let out a loud moan, but my boyfriend doesn't stop. He continues pressing into me. I love him. I love him. The pain begins to dull when I stop thinking about everything that's happening and the pulse from my back moves between my legs, the pounding dulling the pain. My breaths become shorter and it feels like my body is going to explode. I think I have to go to the bathroom.

My boyfriend lets out a low groan and a warm sensation hits my inner thigh. He falls next to me and starts catching his breath like he's just finished running a marathon. I don't know how to feel. There are so many emotions running through my head. Confusion. Is this what I wanted? Anger. I can't believe I just did that. Guilt. My mom is going to kill me when she finds out I'm not a virgin anymore.

That's when it hits me. All my thoughts come rushing in at once when I come to realization I'm 15 and not a virgin. I want to feel better; safe, so I look over to my boyfriend who's already putting his jeans back on. "I love you," I say weakly.

He nods and pulls his phone out from his pocket and starts texting.

I love my boyfriend very much. And I know he loves me. He doesn't say it much, but I know he does. He doesn't have to say it.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*~o:.

Of Windows and Mirros

So, my 11:30a class got canceled today. And I have a bit of time before my 12:30p class. 7 mins to be exact. But, anyway, after a conversation with my sister, I have these thoughts I wanna put down for now and I'll clean this up later.

Basically, I told my sister the events of this past weekend. My godson's 2nd birthday. Some dude named Andre. My boyfriend cheating on me. The whole thing.

Her response wasn't what I expected. Or, rather, not what I wanted. Instead of shock and disappointment, she responded with general curiosity and seemed to enjoy playing the role of Devil's advocate. Or, I guess, in this case, Nikki's advocate. She said, "Well, I mean it's not really my place to tell you who to be with and whatever... but I guess where she was coming from is kinda what everyone was thinking when you brought Chris home. You know? People see you and then they see him. But, you know, they don't see what you see in him." (or something to the effect of that)

And this kinda struck me because, well-- for one, she's right. I don't see why anyone can't see what I see in him. And I don't understand why. He's sweet, charming, funny, creative, imaginative, and, oh, those eyes... But why is it that no one else seems to see this? According to my sister, they see older. Period. And, she says, he never really seems to be as great as I make him. She says, he's a bit boring when she meets him. And quiet. I try to explain that he's usually tired from working or I've woken him up early to come hang out in the day.. but she doesn't get it.

So, I guess my question/thought is: If the eyes are the windows to the soul, can they also function as mirrors? Can we get a reflection of someone just by looking at them or a reflection of ourselves in someone else's eyes?

Case and point: When I look into my boyfriend's eyes, I see him. I see me. I see love. I see a me that he imagines. The me he loves. But I don't know if I necessarily live up to that in anyone else's eyes...

I dunno. This is very messy and I will clean it up later because it's 12:32p and I have to go now. I just needed to get this down.

A Bit of Perspective

It is appalling to me how little the American audience has advanced. I know not everyone has the same ideals, beliefs, etc.. Still, I would think that here in the "Melting Pot," we would learn to accept (or at least respect) other lifestyles. And it really irks me to be wrong in this aspect.

This is what I'm talking about:

Today, I went to see Valentine's Day with one of my closest, dearest friends. Cute movie. I had tears. Twice.

****SPOILER ALERT*****

Anyway, there's a part in the movie when the newly-outted sports athlete is met by his lover who, for most of the movie, seems to be hitting on Julia Roberts. The twisting reveal that Bradley Cooper's character is gay has little time to settle before a heart-warming gesture between him and his star athlete boyfriend takes place. Lover. Man. Person. I dunno, it's not clear exactly how serious their relationship is. Still.

While this is a very sweet moment in the movie (I think), the rest of the theater did not seem to agree. Mel and I clutched each tightly, waiting for them to kiss. The rest of the audience began to groan and audibly express their disapproval . "Ughh... no! Uh, man! Yuccck. Gross."

And it really bothers me that a man can play a philandering adulterer and get more approval than a faithful, loyal boyfriend---even if he's boyfriend to another man.

Ahhhh. It just kinda agitates me.

Yeah. So that's my schpeal. I probably would have more if someone were to ask me about this in person.

Thoughts? Comments? Agree? Disagree? ..Anything?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Poetry

"Poetry"

Poetry:

You slave and sweat
and all you get
is one word
to fill the void
to utterly avoid
an explosion
of thought

Creativity caught
between rhyme and meter
ink-stained fingers
blood-shot eyes
and, yet, to your surprise
line by line
a stanza is born
speaking
breathing
right here
write now
it doesn’t matter how

Paper cut sacrifice
your blood will now pay the price
for one, small literary device
so clear and concise
it must suffice
it must enchant
it must entice
it must beguile
at least for a while
until you find
unwind
design
another line

Refine
refrain
reset
because in the end
poetry is all you get.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[And, yes, I am writing a poem--trying to, at least--and in my frustation crafted this. Strange how that works...]

No, seriously, who dat?

I just don't get it.

This sudden fascination or obsession, really, that everyone seems to have with the New Orleans Saints now that they don't actually suck anymore. This abrupt change of heart can only be described as Saints-fever.

And it seems like I am part of a microscopic minority that has not been infected.

Don't get me wrong, I like football. Every year, I try to catch the Super Bowl no matter who's playing (for the commercials, if nothing else). And half time. Always gotta watch half time. And, when my family can't travel to Texas, we still tune in to the Dallas Cowboy game.

It's frustrating to think that after Feb. 7th, it really won't matter anymore. If the Saints win... Yay. If they lose... Well, isn't that what we're all expecting anyway? Win or lose, LSU will still have school the next day. And life will resume.

I don't understand why people choose this one single event to cling to for a moment of happiness in their life. "This is important for the state of Louisiana!" they say. "This is first time we've really been on the national map since Katrina!" And? Who says we need the attention anyway? Can you quantify this new-found Saints fandom in anyway? What are we gaining from this? A short-lived happiness? For a whole year, you can now interject any sports-driven conversation saying, "Hey, I'm from that state!" Wow... Big change.

No matter how hard you cheer, Drew Brees will not hear you in Miami.

Don't get me wrong, the city of New Orleans is... entrancing to me. I plan to be married there. I'd love to live there. But I refuse to jump on the bandwagon and ride it to Miami simply because my driver's license reads "LA".

I just won't do it.

I don't feel like I need to.

I was happy when the Saints were losing. (There are about 1000 other reasons for other states to look down on Louisiana anyway) And I'll still be happy if they somehow become a Super Bowl-winning team.

Football does not make me happy. It never has. And I doubt it will.

It's the people. You. Him. Y'all. Us. Together. That's what makes me happy. And I as long as I have that, I say Who Dat? Who Cares?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[MUSE]ic in Me

He comes to me in the darkness;
With inspiration to drive this artist
The lyrics to the song I'm singing
My breath of life-
my reason for living.
Faded by logic and
fueled by illusion,
peeking out from my mind's confusion.
Pointing me in the right direction,
steering away from perfection.
In the shape of a man
with eyes like the sky,
my harshest critic,
my closest ally.
The spark that lights the creative flame
My body, my heart:
He bears the claim.
Completion is never the object.
Only expression, only content.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Ghost of Lovers Past

There are certain things I should know by now. There are certain things I just shouldn't do. I should just know better by now.

And yet, I find myself chasing ghosts of the past for some sort of closure. And the funny thing is, I don't know if I'm after these spirits, these memories, this person to help them move on... or myself.

I hate this power you have over me. I hate this thing--whatever it's called--between us. I hate that I can't forget you. I hate that I don't want to.

I love him.
I love us.
I love now.

Begone spirit. Haunt me no longer!

I beg of you.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Cavendish Manor

“One more time.”

“Another? But we’ve been over this a dozen times since we left Ermington!”

“Yes, and we will go through it again and again until we pass through the iron gates themselves. Now, once more.”

Maggie sighed loudly, knowing she couldn’t fight the will of Professor Tillman much longer. “Fine. Cavendish Manor stands as the largest estate in the country, run by a staff of servants under the supervision of Miss Anne Cunningham. It was designed and built by Josiah Cavendish, the father of Jeremiah Cavendish, who took what little money he had to his name after his wife’s death and nearly tripled it before his untimely death. Everything went to Jacob Cavendish, who had to be called away from abroad to oversee his grandfather’s affairs. And John--,”

Professor Tillman cleared his throat loudly.

“Sorry. Young Master Cavendish is the youngest in the powerful line of Cavendish men. He’s beginning to show early signs of the same disease that killed his great-grandfather, which is why I was called upon to be his companion whilst his father is away on his many business trips. There.”

“Must everything sound like village gossip when you say it?” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He was busy thumbing through the thick book that had been resting in his lap most of the ride up to Cavendish Manor. Margaret wasn’t convinced he was actually reading it as the pages turned too fast between his fingers.

“Sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

He snapped the book shut. Maggie jumped. “How many times must I remind you? It is not what you say, but how you say it, Margaret.”

She groaned. “Call me Maggie, everyone does.”

He nodded. “Yes, everyone does. Everyone in Ermington. Everyone not of the privileged class. Everyone doomed to live in that godforsaken village with no hopes of being more than a seamstress or a common butcher.”

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. “My father was a butcher,” she spat.

Seeing the hurt in her face, Professor Tillman set his book aside and placed a hand on her knee. “I’m sorry. Your father was a decent man. He was my friend, after all. I’ve known you since you were a child, Margaret. But now you must leave such things behind. At Cavendish Manor, you will be expected to act like the lady your parents always wanted you to be treated as.”

She wouldn’t look at Tillman. Instead, she turned her teary gaze out of the window. The countryside passed by quickly. Everything looked so different. There were blue skies, clear pastures, birds twittering about. It was beautiful. Even the roads were smoother. The carriage traveled easily enough with hardly a bump felt by either passenger. Margaret wondered if this is what money bought people.

“Approaching Cavendish Road, sir!” the driver announced.

Professor Tillman straightened his position and began smoothing his attire. He produced a small cloth from his inside jacket pocket and polished the lenses of his glasses in his lap. “You will remember everything I’ve taught you, won’t you Margaret?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Follow every instruction Miss Cunningham gives you.”

“I will.”

“And never speak out of turn.”

“I won’t.”

“Right then,” he said.

Cavendish Manor rose into view. Margaret pressed her face to the window to get a better look. It was enormous. The house looked more like a palace than a home. You could fit everyone from Ermington in there! she thought. The iron gates swung open to allow them in and Margaret couldn’t help but notice the letters “JC” formed at the top in what seemed like woven gold. A small portly woman stood alone in the drive. She was waving wildly at them.

“Professor Tillman…”

“Yes, Margaret?”

“I’m scared.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Blergh

UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!

Next week is going to suck. Class. Rehearsal. Work. Not to mention wanting to continue my health and fitness regimen (126, baby!). Ugh. I am not looking forward to going back to BR.

That is all.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Also, I have a new story in the works. Newly inspired by something I'm reading. Hopefully, it'll be a well-welcomed distraction.

100 truths about K. Marie

Because I just don't post notes on FB. I don't know why anymore... Just don't. So here ya go:


WHAT WAS YOUR:
1. last beverage = Pink Lemonade kool-aid (made it myself ^-^)
2. last phone call = Made? My sister. Received? My mom.
3. last text message = Chris Taylor (still texting now ^-^)
4. last song you listened to = Paparazzi - Lady Gaga
5. last time you cried = Last night (happy tears!)

HAVE YOU EVER:
6. dated someone twice = Yes. Ugh.
7. been cheated on = Yes.
8. kissed someone & regretted it = The kiss? No. How it happened... well... :/
9. lost someone special = Yes.
10. been depressed = Yes.
11. been drunk and threw up = Close.. But no.

LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:
12. Blue
13. Brown
14. White (especially those 3 in combination - like my bedsrpead)

THIS YEAR HAVE YOU: (2009)
15. Made a new friend = Chyeah!
16. Fallen out of love = Unfortunately.
17. Laughed until you cried = All. The. Time.
18. Met someone who changed you = "For Good" ^-^
19. Found out who your true friends were = Never had a doubt...
20. Found out someone was talking about you = Aren't they always? :P
21. Kissed anyone on your FB friend's list = Yup.

GENERAL:
22. How many people on your FB friends list do you know in real life = Every one. Well, I've seen them.
24. Do you have any pets = Does my boyfriend count? :P (no)
25. Do you want to change your name = Nah.
26. What did you do for your last birthday = PRIDE!
27. What time did you wake up today = 7:50a (church)
28. What were you doing at midnight last night = Watching Nip/Tuck season 1
29. Name something you CANNOT wait for = March 28th!!!!
30. Last time you saw your Mother = Before I closed my room door... (she was in the hallway)
31. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life = Nothing. I rather like my life.
32. What are you listening to right now = Chris Rock's loud mouth.
33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom = Uhhhmm.. Knew a Tom Gurly in elementary... But we never "talked". Ew.
34. What's getting on your nerves right now = See no. 32
35. Most visited webpage = Facebook.
38. Relationship Status = Hidden. XP
39. Zodiac sign = Virgo
40. He or She = ME!
41. Elementary = T.S. Cooley Elementary Magnet School (I love saying that!)
42. High School = Barbe High
43. College = Southern/LSU
44. Hair color = Brown
45. Long or short = Short
46. Height = 5'4"
47. Do you have a crush on someone? = Yes. (Luckily, I'm dating him ^-^)
48. What do you like about yourself? = Uhh... Skip.
49. Piercings = None.
50. Tattoos = Gross.
51. Righty or lefty = Righty.

FIRSTS:
52. First surgery = Uhm.. when they cut the umbilical cord thingy off and made my belly button. Does that count?
53. First piercing = Ears when I was a baby.
54. First best friend = Carrie (Sigh, I miss her.)
55. First sport you joined = Gymnastics.
56. First vacation = Oh Lord... I don't remember.
58. First crush = Luis Cerna (2nd grade)

What you are doing:
59. Eating = Gumbo, actually.
60. Drinking = Pink Lemonade kool-aid (made it my-- deja vu)
61. I'm about to = Log in to Gaia.
62. Listening to = Chris Rock's loud mouth. (still)
63. Waiting for = Rachel to get on AIM! :P

YOUR FUTURE :
64. Want kids = Yes. Adoptive.
65. Get Married? = I hope to.
66. Career = Writing.

WHICH IS BETTER :
67. Lips or eyes = Eyes.
68. Hugs or kisses = Hugs.
69. Shorter or taller = Taller.
70. Older or Younger = :P
71. Romantic or spontaneous = Spontaneously romantic.
72. Nice stomach or nice arms = Nice heart.
73. Sensitive or loud = Sensitive.
74. Hook-up or relationship = "Ooh no, I do not hook u-up! I go slowww..."
75. Trouble maker or hesitant = What kind of trouble? ;)

HAVE YOU EVER :
76. Kissed a stranger = No.
77. Drank hard liquor = Yes.
78. Lost glasses/contacts = No.
79. Sex on first date = Never.
80. Broken someone's heart = Yes.
81. Had your own heart broken = Cracked, never broken.
82. Been arrested = No.
83. Turned someone down = Yes.
84. Cried when someone died = Yes.
85. Fallen for a friend = Yes.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
86. Yourself = Not really.
87. Miracles = Yes.
88. Love at first sight = Yes.
89. Heaven = Yes.
90. Santa Claus = Not anymore.
91. Kiss on the first date = Maybe, depends on the date.
92. Angels = Yes.

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:
93. Had more than one gf/bf = At a time? No!
95. Did you sing today = Yes, in the car.
96. Ever cheated on somebody = Yes.
97. If you could go back in time, how far would you go = Very. 16th century England.
98. If you could pick a day from last year and relive it, what would it be = April 11th.

No 99. Well, that sucks.


100. Afraid of posting this as 100 truths = Nope.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

My Year According to FB

What a year! (Because I'm wayyyy too lazy to write a summary of 09 post)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.