I don't own Jane and the Dragon or its characters
Inspired by the Maroon 5 song "Feelings"
You know those days when the whole world grows silent as you look upon your beloved's face? I seem to have too many of those days and it is troublesome. I will explain why something so beautiful can be hideous.
It is a universal truth that when a young girl crosses the road of girlhood to womanhood, she goes through a sort of transformation, similar to that of the majestic butterfly, and she just one day blooms. And it cannot escape anybody's eyes, by my word it is the most distressing time for the young boys who do not yet understand that they are in the middle of a similar transformation. However, it is not so beautiful for boys who are in this state of life, it is awkward. Your legs and arms stretch, your tone of voice changes, and your youthful innocence is lost forever at the first moment your heart beats a little too fast for the girl who became a woman so mysteriously before your eyes that you had no chance to even blink. Woman are unlike men for they still could retain their innocence so coyly by governing their feelings if they are ever so lucky to be sensible. And what is even worse is that both woman and men begin to smell bad, no this cannot escape anyone, and both gain a new awareness of their actions, their appearance's, and of what others think of us.
Back to me, I would not say that I am not so troubled of this disastrous transformation, since it had come and gone right away, but I still am guilty of its lasting effects. Ever so gradually, the meaning of beauty manifested itself in another form, one I could never possibly ignore. And breathing is no longer the same.
There is something else I have almost forgotten to mention, the little monsters inside of all of us is especially active at that time, who goes by several names, but for now let us call them jealousy and little invisible beasts will never go away, but they can be controlled, that is if you have the sense and mental strength to.
A little wine, a little food, and song can ease ones spirits, but such remedy cannot compare to the feverish inclinations of the beating heart or the excitabilities of a pretty girl with fair skin, hands made of marble, hair finer then horses mane, eyes as dazzling as the kings jewels, and a voice that could make doves cry. Oh yes, I am guilty indeed, but I do not regret it. However, if such feelings come to nothing, then I will spend countless evenings telling myself it was a waste when my heart tells me something completely different.
I will not bottle them up, but they will be invisible unless you tell me not to do so. If then they come to waste, I will not be able to help but to feel and continue feeling until the days where forgetting becomes easy, and when I cannot feel anymore.