The CobbleStone Fable
The Cobblestone Fable by yours truly
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And as i stopped to kneel down, the poor girl hid her disheveled face.
Faced with embarassment, she shivered at my touch.
"go away....why do you care if i sleep here?"
"the streets are no place for a charmer such as yourself"
"your flattery's flat-lined.."
"i don't get to practice much.."
Up, i had her. Her feet slowly focusing in on the ground beneath her.
It didn't look like she had ever been wisked away by a gentleman before...
...well, she hadn't.
You see, people don't normally talk to those they don't feel inclined to talk to.
Such is life, and such is relevancy. Neither are important here, and neither were used in said thought process.
When machinery burns, and oil slides seductively towards the gutter beneath,
the most delicious rainbow occurs, and sends a street-dweller into splendor.
Looking up into my eyes, she noticed the slight inclination, and the light load on my back.
'he's not even trying to hide it!', she thought.
I shook her shoulder gently and coo'ed into her ear, "come on then"
The cobblestone, the weary street lamps, the noise the boards made when the horse-drawn carriages would cross over them...
The fog, the flamboient scent (which tickled your insides), the small stores closing at sundown...
From the time she woke up that morning, under a park bench, to the time she fell asleep, amidst down-feather comforters and boiling chocolate, she never once thought anything was as it shouldn't be. Yes, she woke up poor and went to bed rich, but these are riches that men preach, and are of a false faith. Hope resides inside, instilled forever. Reaching in and tapping that energy is the richest source of pride we have.
"do you think i'm beautiful?"
"yes"
"why...?"
"because you know you are, and i recognize that"
"......"
"....i think you're beautiful, because you're the only real person i've ever seen.."
And there, on that faint night, they shared a small kiss....
+
And as i stopped to kneel down, the poor girl hid her disheveled face.
Faced with embarassment, she shivered at my touch.
"go away....why do you care if i sleep here?"
"the streets are no place for a charmer such as yourself"
"your flattery's flat-lined.."
"i don't get to practice much.."
Up, i had her. Her feet slowly focusing in on the ground beneath her.
It didn't look like she had ever been wisked away by a gentleman before...
...well, she hadn't.
You see, people don't normally talk to those they don't feel inclined to talk to.
Such is life, and such is relevancy. Neither are important here, and neither were used in said thought process.
When machinery burns, and oil slides seductively towards the gutter beneath,
the most delicious rainbow occurs, and sends a street-dweller into splendor.
Looking up into my eyes, she noticed the slight inclination, and the light load on my back.
'he's not even trying to hide it!', she thought.
I shook her shoulder gently and coo'ed into her ear, "come on then"
The cobblestone, the weary street lamps, the noise the boards made when the horse-drawn carriages would cross over them...
The fog, the flamboient scent (which tickled your insides), the small stores closing at sundown...
From the time she woke up that morning, under a park bench, to the time she fell asleep, amidst down-feather comforters and boiling chocolate, she never once thought anything was as it shouldn't be. Yes, she woke up poor and went to bed rich, but these are riches that men preach, and are of a false faith. Hope resides inside, instilled forever. Reaching in and tapping that energy is the richest source of pride we have.
"do you think i'm beautiful?"
"yes"
"why...?"
"because you know you are, and i recognize that"
"......"
"....i think you're beautiful, because you're the only real person i've ever seen.."
And there, on that faint night, they shared a small kiss....