GreyPezzola

I am so in love with your fingertips, The perfect places where mine should fit, My hands too small to be considered dainty  My fingers too wide to be considered beautiful. Your hands counter act mine, Fill the spaces where mine end, Your hands too large to be considered feminine,  You fingers too long to be considered slender. Yet your hands are beautiful, So pale with dark hairs, Nails long and perfectly filed.  How I long to trace my fingertips over you and memorize every detail. I am also hopelessly in love with your hair, The hair the world never thought to give me, How long and louscious,  How it falls in dark wave

Friday morning had the makings to be a really good day or the worst day ever. It started the same way most days did, with her alarm clock going off and being chucked sleepily, but with surprising accuracy, across the room and into the trashcan. She turned over once, lay still for another three minutes, and then sat up, stretched, and grumbled when she realized what day of the week it was. She didn't like Fridays. For most people, it was the start of the weekend, the last big hurdle before two glorious days of absolutely nothing happened. Not so for a zoo-keeper. It was spring, meaning the weather was most likely going to be fine, not too

She crashed into my life, or more I crashed into hers. It was a night of mystery and romance, a night where shadows were dancing on the wall. Those shadows, so enthralling, kept me spell bound as my feet moved without my consent. I found myself pressed into her side for a second and my cheeks turning as red as her shirt. I muttered an apology, tucking my hair past my ear. She responded with a smile, insuring me that it was quite alright. Then it was back to watching shadows as they entwined themselves in the dark. As the night progressed, I too joined the shadows, as did she, our shadows meeting with more shadows, but never did our shadows c

There's a part in Peter Pan where Wendy says, "How I wish I could take you into my arms!" She rushes to Peter as is about to say something more, but Peter always cuts her off saying, "Don't." I've always wondered what she was going to say, but in the end it doesn't matter. You know what she wants to say to this broken boy. Peter, a boy who chooses to fly on what is fun, gives up his future, his dreams, and Wendy to keep his freedom, his ability to fly, his innocence. Everyone knows Peter has already lost his innocence. He is in constant battle with Pirates and Indians, loosing boys to war, as well as killing those who oppose him. Yet still h