Youth [h.s.]

Chapter Five: Blackbird.

-

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free."

-

The Sunday morning was no different than any other Sunday morning, well, other than the hard lump under her pillow and her mind already racing at 7am with not only her thoughts but his. The beautiful writing seems to be engraved into her mind, leaving it with a glimmer of shimmering boastful light. She sees his words, no longer flashes of her mind speaking and racing. It's a feeling she's unaccustomed to, a relief, a release of burden maybe. She scrambles up in bed, the book shifts between her eager fumbling fingers to open to the brittle page she left off last at 3am.

'16.03.15 // HK

Doesn't feel quite right. Something is going to happen and I don't think we're ready. I'm not ready. It worries me that I'm worried more about myself than about him.

xxx- reevaluate.'

What's 'xxx'? Reevaluate what? Her brows furrow together far much too early this morning as she rereads the writing, laying out possibilities in play for him to want to reevaluate. She also notes that he isn't a fan of change and that he wants to care for others, distasted that it's not a immediate instinct in this case.

'20.03.15 // HK

A.M.'

'28.03.15 // HK

We all have a rock, and rock that never moves. A rock of stability and insurance. A rock everyone needs to keep sane. A rock that is full of reassurance and held grounded, a rock that never leaves your side.

He moved.'

  Who moved? She admired his symbolism and metaphoric references, the way he writes is adequate but stunning. Who moved? A friend, a brother, a relative? How profound had they impacted him to leave such an impact of their departure? The writing is sloppy and almost lazy, as if tired or drained. She feels sadden, feeling for him and what he must've went through at the rough time. With a heavy heart, she notices the pages so forth are more brittle, erased multiple times that it left the pages thinner than they already were. She painstakingly turns the page and continues to read on.

'18.05.15 // W.S.

The summer time and butterflies all belong to your creation.'

  That thus far has to be her favorite writing of his. The simplicity and underlining so beautiful and she literally feels like a sap curled up in a blanket on her bed grinning like a complete idiot. She closes the book with a squeal of stupid glee, hugging the journal to her chest and letting out a sigh of ultimate contentment. The words dance in her mind, the rasp of his voice echoes under her ears, his masculine cologne teases her nose. What level of bewitchment has she fallen into? They must've have said all but ten words to each other and here she is, laying in bed with butterflies hovering her over her bellybutton.

'22.05.15 // W.S.

I was stumbling
looking in the dark
with an empty heart
but you say you feel the same
could we ever be enough?'

She wants to assume these are, once again, lyrics. The whole page is filled in a lyrical stanza but it can always be simply rhetorical poetic writing.  She does notice he's vague with his writing and then very... incorporates romanticism which leads her more in the direction of him being a song writer.