I've been going through old papers at my parents' house this week as I've been cleaning out my old room (good gravy I've got a lot of crap). I invariably unearthed some high school artifacts. I wrote the ditty below in 10th grade for English class. It's a bit out of character for something I just came up with, so I'm pretty sure we had some kind of prompt. I wouldn't attempt to capture the feminine psyche at such a novice age and with such limited female romantic know-how, but it's certainly possible that I tried. It's a strangely colored piece for sure...
Tis intersting what was going through my mind as a 16-year-old. Goodness. Of further interest, I also found a love note I got from a gal in the 9th grade. She actually wrote it to me on my 16th birthday, coincidentally.
And the note is actually quite straight-forward, heartfelt and poignant. I respected her sentiments greatly... But I think it's pretty impossible to look back on such remnants and not get a high level of devious adolescent enjoyment out of them. I figure the note is worth keeping another seven years if it's bringing me this amount of well being right now. It's the little things, really...
Ballroom floor, level one. The orchestra bows lightly, a waltz sifting through the atmosphere. Crowds of formality migrate amongst the different castes, shifting with the sociable weather variations.
A breeze lifts my hair as veranda doors release occupants into cool dark air. People part, moving to reveal...him. I inhale, my corset loosing its taught conformity.
He drinks casually from what is offered, speaks confidently to surrounding intellects. Boredom fringes his body language, turning he swivels his gaze. Glorious, our eyes grapple. The orchestra strikes tone. Hope ensues. He takes a step forward.