I can find an article of clothing in a store and fall in love with it right away. At first sight, I immediately think that this is the thing that’s been missing in my closet for all my life, and mentally put together a billion outfits with this one piece as the focus. I spend an inappropriate amount of time practically salivating over it, feeling the fabric between my fingers and finally decide to try it on. As I look in the mirror, I sigh and think: it’s perfect. Something makes me hesitate though, what if I regret it later? So I leave the store empty-handed, and spend the entire week just thinking about that one article of clothing, imagining countless other girls(or boys (?)) just buying every single one in the entire country. Then I practically run back there, throw the money on the cash register and snatch my new dress/top/pants/whatever as fast as I can. The whole night, I sit at home and have a Gollum moment, petting it while wheezing “precious” (okay not really, but you know), admiring my new whatever and just feeling general content regarding my decision. The following day, I wear it to school, and someone gives me a compliment. “Oh, what a lovely whatever you have!” And what do I respond? A meek “thanks”. WTF? Why does all the magic disappear as soon as I possess something? I mean, of course I think it’s lovely, I spent a week obsessing over it! I should answer: “I know, right?!” But I don’t even think it. It’s strange how it all changes so fast. Maybe the enchantment lays in actually wanting something you don’t have, and not the object of desire itself. Greedy human.
I love it when an accidental snippet of another song starts at the end of one when I’m listening to my iPod. It’s like those three seconds turn into a whole separate song, and at the same time – it becomes part of the real one. It’s like the song is empty without that little snippet, and even though I probably wouldn’t have liked the song if I heard the whole one, I automatically love the snippet. But what I love the most is that I’ll never hear it. The three minutes that follow those three seconds are completely unknown to me, and could be anything. The possibilities are endless.
…what I don’t love (I’ve realized), is the word ‘snippet’. It sounds like a penis being cut off with a pair of garden scissors. Ouch. No me gusta.
Crimson. Velvet. Crushed. Snow. Feathers. Drops of blood. Raven. Frosty eyelashes. A biting cold. Blushing cheeks. Black eyes. Footstep. A lavender ribbon. Flowing in the wind. Gemstones glistening.
The sun is setting. A vision of white. A silhouette marred by the sharp black lines of trees. Stretching up to the sky. Reaching. Looming. Silence is interrupted by the sound of feet hitting the ground. Running. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The frosty white, glistening like a gemstone, but giving away like cotton. A blurry vision of velvet in crimson. A girl moving. Her panting echoes through the woods. She stops, turning her black eyes towards the sky. Her cheeks are rose-stained, eyelashes stiff with frost, and the cold is biting. But she doesn’t care. Drip. Drip. Drip. A small pool of red gathers beneath her. The crimson smears forming a trace. She looks at the path, red staining white, and gives a deep sigh. The whole forest shakes with her release of breath, and everything settles. Silence once more. A flash through her eyes. A fleeting moment of clarity. The girl holds up her hand and examines the ribbon hanging from between her fingers. Immaculate satin. The girl starts running once again, with the white flowing behind her. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. A flapping of wings can be heard from a distance. The girl quickens her pace, ignoring the numbing sensation on her face. A velvet dress, the eyes of a lost girl, and a satin ribbon can be seen, moving in a blur. Crimson. Black. White. In a remote, but not all too remote, distance – a feather hits the ground. The black feather of a raven lands on top of the pool of blood. A raven’s feather, a lost girl’s blood, and the snow. Black. Crimson. White.