.. something like this ..
Something like this. Something like this would be the graze of your hand against mine when Ron's not looking. Something like this. Something like this would be the way your hair falls, trickling across my earlobe ever so slightly to make that single wish heard, if not audible, but visibly so.
Something like this would be the tips of your fingers smelling like books, fresh and dusty across my lips and eyes fondling each other outside when the snow falls, you twirl the way my mother would, dance the way my father would, and rise the way the water would. The way you stip-tap-step across whites on the ground, like an infant learning how to dream.
If there was ever such a thing like perfect;you would be it. We would be it. I, would never be, until you made me with your incomplete naggings, steppings on feet and correcting all those mistakes. If there was ever such a thing as perfect, we would be it. Just like my mother and father we could dance and nobody would see us, whirl around while someone takes a photo--the photo's ancient, crumbling, it moves, it swirls. It knows how to dance along with us.
The photo is of my parents. Teaching us to dance so we can share the magic they did. If only Ron knew exactly how dancing felt, I would teach him myself, but I would not give you; he would never have you like I have, dancing free, steps exact like theirs, whistles in the wind, and hair carrying on the air, floating like tiny little raindrops, wanting to be fed.
Something like this. Something so perfect, magical, it fits together, youth, and all. My parents weren't glassy or sexy like those scribblings on magazines of girls trying to make themselves pretty, skinny. They were classic, and we're beautiful, as they were.
If only I could save us, in a million photographs, but none would sum up what they meant; what they truly did mean. Something like this...photographs all over the walls, roses, lillies fresh on the ground as we dance, my parents dancing right beside us.
I think it's called perfect. Or maybe it's called love.
Yeah. Love. Something like that.....
I would like to thank anybody who actually read this, and has the time to review it. I love this story, and I think you guys will know exactly which photograph I am talking about, and if you don't, you will when you see PoA. Anybody who can make me an animated icon of that will be endlessly loved:).
Courtney S.A.