We’ve Waited Long Enough

 

There’s a girl out there, waiting for me.
I know,
I’m waiting for her too.
When we find each other we’ll know right away.
It’ll be like Christmas morning when we were kids. Discovering the presents under the tree
And rushing at them with open arms.

It wont take long to fall in love.
She’s already so lovely.
She’ll love the smell of rain, and old books, and we’ll go out together in the rain to old bookstores.
Then we’ll leave little notes in the books
For future lovers to find.

We’ll go home and cook all sorts of crazy food
And laugh about it when it goes horribly, horribly wrong.
We’ll go out to restaurants instead, arms entwined like chain link fences.
Candlelit dinners with french waiters and cobblestone patios.

She’ll be sweet with a wild side, like pop rockets.
Like little sugary explosions of delight.
And I’ll find her very pretty, even in the morning.
Especially in the morning.

And she’ll show me her world
And I’ll show her all of mine.
And somehow we’ll discover we were both only living in just half a world after all, and all the edges of our worlds will fit together.
Well, maybe not all of them. We’ll make some earthquakes and mountains in the process.
That’s falling in love, after all.

She’ll like me because I’ll never lie to her, and certainly try my best to never hurt her.
I’ll make her laugh all the time, and go through withdrawals when she doesn’t.
Her smile will be my drug.
And she’ll find me handsome and manly,
Even when I get all teared up at the sad parts in movies.
Especially when I get all teared up at the sad parts in movies.

We’ll throw snowballs at each other,
And stand on tall buildings to watch sunsets.
We’ll stroll through the woods, smelling leaves and taking pictures of mushrooms.
And in spring we’ll plant flowers all over the city, watch them grow.
Our own little secret flowers.

There’s a girl out there. She’s waiting for me.
I’m waiting for her too.
Watching the streams of rain flow down my windows.
Perhaps she’s out there today, umbrella held high, looking in shop windows.
Or maybe staying dry, filling her home with smells of fresh baking.
I don’t know where she is.
But I know she’s waiting.
And we’ve waited long enough.

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Writing is Murder

Redrum writing. That sounds appropriate. Whenever I sit down and make the effort to get writing, I feel like murdering it. Or maybe writing wants to murder me? Either way, I will become a writer even if it kills me. So here we are. Perhaps having a blog to lay it all down in will encourage better focus on my writing. I certainly hope so.

So what’s Redum Writing all about? Nothing in particular. Everything, in some way. This is the place for my writing dump. Writing about my life, the experiences and people in it. Writing about my daydreams, the ideas and characters that will eventually come to encompass short stories or the next great American novel. Writing about my passions and my hates, ideals, advice to myself, and writing about writing itself. In short, Redrum Writing is about getting to work. Getting the words down.
And hey, if someone happens to find some enjoyment in perusing these random writings, all the better.

Let’s write something.