"You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian. He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer. I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip. Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything. But did he appreciate his opportunities? No. And I hated him for it. "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?" His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question. Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash. "They don't DO anything." My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly. Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed. ...

O.O
ReplyDelete"So calm we can hear our hearts pounding." Yep. Pretty much. I spontaneously decided to speed-read my entry last night. *groans* I'm reminded of all the parts I'm unsatisfied with AND all the parts I love!
Can't wait to party on Saturday!
I have a feeling the same thing would happen if I were to read through mine. I pulled it up on my computer to pull out a snippet to share in an "interview." And the little page that I read was like that for me.
DeleteI'm just over hear quietly dying, don't mind me ;D
ReplyDelete~ Savannah | Scattered Scribblings
Hahahaha! Don't die on me yet, girl! We've got to see our stories through to completion, wherever that takes us!
DeleteThat picture sums everything up perfectly! The anticipation!
ReplyDeleteI posted it on Facebook today since you liked it. ;)
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