Strawberries & Cigarettes

Chapter 4

March 22, 2015

"Why are you staring at a blank piece of paper like an insane person?" Spencer asks, towering over Aurora who's sitting on the couch with her legs crisscrossed.

She hums, breaking out of her daydream that scoured for any sort of inspiration for the poem she's trying to compose.

Creativity comes and goes for her, but zero words form in neither her mind nor the paper.

Creativity reminds her of herself. 

"I'm trying out new hobbies I can do! Right now I'm working on poetry writing," Aurora responds, twirling her pink led pencil between her fingers.

Now she taps the pencil on the opened notebook, creating a delicate rhythm that gets destroyed by Spencer snorting.

"Well, I can see that it's going well for you," he says, voice dripping in sarcasm, and adds, "what is your inspiration for the poem?"

"Whatever comes to mind? I didn't think that far through," she admits, doodling clusters of stars on the top of the page.

Maybe her poem can be about stars? The universe?

Life? How scared but taken for granted existence has become?

A person? A self-killing person?

Louis?

No.

She instantly shakes her head from the ridiculous thought, fluffy hair bouncing against her face from the action.

He doesn't deserve a poem written about him.

Even if he's poem-worthy.

"Write about something close to your heart so it's easier for you to have inspiration."

Aurora looks up at him, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows in realization.

She didn't think about that.

And she thinks about a lot of things.

"You're right! And I think I have an idea now," Aurora exclaims, quickly standing up with her glittery notebook and skipping over to the glass sliding door.

The tidy, floral, and vibrant garden evolved into being her place to be in.

To swim in her thoughts, to concentrate, to daydream, to comfort herself, and even to sometimes sit down in the middle of the grass-covered ground and admire.

Admire the little dances the colorful buttercup flowers do in the breeze or how tiny ladybugs crawl on her skin to welcome her.

She sits down on the grass, bare legs in front of her, and sets the blank notebook on her lap.

The green blades of grass tickle her skin, and her blue sundress attracts more life to the lush scenery.

She calls the garden a wonderland of small creatures and blissful plants.

It's their home after all.