From The Quill

The silence of 1AM. It's winter. Insomniac and sleepless, I sit with the laptop. You knew it, didn't you? You stare at me intensely. Like your deep brown eyes have a lot to convey. Thoughts. Feelings. Emotions. You just need the right words from me. There is complete silence. I can hear my breath. And the keyboard. I stop as the cursor blinks. You give half a smile. That spark in your eyes. What's next? I sigh. You wait. You then dial her number. Disconnect it, unsure. Then, leave her a message with a soft, nervous prayer. I smile at your nervous face now. When you frown in tension, your eyebrows make an arc like sea waves. They straighten soon after you choose your shirt. Blue? Black? Grey? You settle for Purple. You practice a speech. I watch you amused. We both know how nervously you have discarded the hundred other types of proposals. And you finally settled for being spontaneous. For others, they will just know your perfect speech. Taking a deep breath your heart thump...

 A little Bird flew far and wide,  Across Continents it flew by,  Searching for that one perfect tree. He wished to call it home,  After the years and years he had roamed,  And at last he found it! The prettiest tree in starlet blooms,  That shone like stars,  Bright even in gloom. He settled down on a branch full of flowers,  Didn't know it wasn't an answer to his prayers. Ready to call it Home so quick  In a few brief moments of attraction  That made him regret and grieve,  The branch didn't meet his expectations. Wounded, pained, and hurt  Blood-soaked, he fell in the dirt,  Because he had forgotten the obvious  In his search for home so alacrity,  That there could be thorns ready to cut easily  Even in the most flawless-looking beauty. ~ Suranya