Being Bilingual
"With you I feel I can be myself," she says, amidst riddles of red ribbon prose. "Words come easily, naturally. You make me feel effortless". He glances at his watch, willing time to stop. She's his favourite novel, poetry in motion. All tangles waiting to fall.
She sneaks up behind him and throws her hands around his eyes. "Who am I?" she whispers, breathes down his ear. She swings herself around, using him as a pivot, and presents herself, beaming with glee. "I love you so much. You make me carefree. You never make me feel uncomfortable with who I am." She giggles and skips around him, throwing illusionary confetti through the air. He smiles. She's uncomplicated, the child in his life. The cares of his day can't resist her.
She looks up from her book, and breaks the silence. "Y'know, I do enjoy our time together. It gives me a chance to drop the pretence, really just be me." He murmurs in recognition, but wants to embrace her. They trade philosophies, define reality, but the air crackles with inexplicable energy. Beauty and a brain. Quiet but thoughtful, and a fragrance without compare.
She arives home and dances to seventies punk and turntable blisscuits. Enwrapt with the joy of her solidarity, she tumbles onto her bed and lays arms outstretched. She recites song lyrics like classical poetry to a spider on the ceiling. "Finally we are no-one", she winks. To you, Mr Daddy Long Legs, I give all that I am, unreserved. This is who I am.
She sneaks up behind him and throws her hands around his eyes. "Who am I?" she whispers, breathes down his ear. She swings herself around, using him as a pivot, and presents herself, beaming with glee. "I love you so much. You make me carefree. You never make me feel uncomfortable with who I am." She giggles and skips around him, throwing illusionary confetti through the air. He smiles. She's uncomplicated, the child in his life. The cares of his day can't resist her.
She looks up from her book, and breaks the silence. "Y'know, I do enjoy our time together. It gives me a chance to drop the pretence, really just be me." He murmurs in recognition, but wants to embrace her. They trade philosophies, define reality, but the air crackles with inexplicable energy. Beauty and a brain. Quiet but thoughtful, and a fragrance without compare.
She arives home and dances to seventies punk and turntable blisscuits. Enwrapt with the joy of her solidarity, she tumbles onto her bed and lays arms outstretched. She recites song lyrics like classical poetry to a spider on the ceiling. "Finally we are no-one", she winks. To you, Mr Daddy Long Legs, I give all that I am, unreserved. This is who I am.