jordnatalia1011
I heard some commotion at the other end of the bar as I took a stool by the jukebox. The dive was packed with the kind of people I'd only ever seen in tv shows and movies; men in cowboy hats with enormous belt buckles and women in tight, short floral dresses with cigarettes hanging out of their matte lips. As I tried to catch the attention of the grizzly bartender, I saw what all the ruckus on the opposite side of the room was about—a red-faced young woman in high heels was clubbing her boyfriend with her bag, which appeared to contain an object of similar size and weight as a brick. Sure enough, the boyfriend managed to grab the purse and turned his back to the fuming girl, and as she pounded on his back with her fists, he pulled out an actual brick. To my astonishment, the boyfriend started laughing.
"What the fuck..." I didn't realize I said it out loud until the petite woman sitting next to me chuckled and replied with a raspy smoker's voice, "Welcome to the heart o' Texas."
He walked toward the bar with grace that no other man I had ever seen possessed. His legs lighted softy on the wooden floor and his arms stayed still by his side. I watched as he grasped the bar and slowly lifted his leg straight above his curly head, practically parallel with his body. Chills shivered down my spine as the music began and he spun out into a liquid dance. He was Magnar Svensen, famed Swedish ballet dancer, just 19 years old. "He's the one," I said.
Show me the world seen from the stars. Life here is too small and dysfunctional. It must be peaceful up in the sky.
I don't like this word. It reminds me of pampered rich folk who sit around all day on an island with cucumbers in their eyes. With nothing better to do. I'm sure it's relaxing, and they deserve some "me" time, but sitting in a spa is probably one of the most nonconstructive things a person can do.
There is no backspace bar for life, unfortunately. But, I suppose, it's for the best, because we can't move forward when we're still dwelling on the past. Yes, you make mistakes and have regrets, but don't we all? No one lives a guilt-free life.
He stared at me for a long time. I watched his narrowed eyes, his tense mouth, his flared nostrils. I didn't say a word. Suddenly, he was there, grasping my upper arms tightly. His eyes flashed red for a second, and then they softened. His face relaxed as he gazed down at me. But before he could utter a word, I turned on my heel, his expression of slight disbelief still fresh in my mind.
The way love is supposed to be. Like vines growing and reaching and entwining. Mutual love. But when it's just one tall flower growing and reaching, there's no love; just waiting.
"It's a mystery," he said.
"What is?"
"The whole reason I'm here. The reason I'm not far, far away by now. Why I have this incessant feeling that I am only worth anything when I'm in this place."
My life. My home. Where I go. Beauty is all around me, in every setting. Sometimes you need to see through the concrete and dust to find it, but it's there. Giving everyone hope of love and life.
writing since 2011 · 16 entries · 16 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Jordyn showed up.
2longest streak
16days written
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the words Jordyn reaches for
lovebarhomedeckwatchedeyeswordboyfriendwarnedstoryhopereasonfargrowingreachingchase