March 24, 2011
The light combed through her hair, the reddish-brown of each strand glimmering and fluttering. It was a spring-but-it-feels-like-summer kind of day, the sun barely brushing the top layer of her skin. The dash of chill that wrinkled the air (taut with warmth) rippled and fell away: the world moved slowly past, not knowing, not wondering, beautifully ignorant.
March 21, 2011
March 04, 2011
Someone sent me this video today, from Ralph Lauren's Rugby Poets Club (such an awesome idea, by the way!) and I absolutely love it. Everything about it is so incredible, the poem is just perfection. I've just found my new favorite poem, ever.