Mykynzy's Child: A Vignette
First Draft
It's a pink hoodie. Big silver-white letters spell out the place where she bought it. The place where I saw it on a sale rack in some store. All that rosy-coziness for just twenty dollars. Twenty dollars left in a place we have both grown to love. A place with ice cream and jewelry and seagulls and an old lady falling on her face. With a candy shop and plenty of stores that sell useless junk we can't help but buy. An overpriced place, but no price can buy friendship so it doesn't matter. In this place we tighten the bonds until we cut off our circulation. In this place she picked my earrings and I found the hoodie to transform her into Mykynzy's child. Soft and huggable, pink and fuzzy. The kind that some love to hate. But I love to love. And we love, and we live, and we make soup, and life goes on, and the ones who don't love don't matter.
She is Mykynzy's child, and she is my best friend, and she is leaving. But she'll come back, and her body will step back into the spirit she left next to mine. And she'll be different, and so will I, but we'll still be ourselves. No oceans can separate us from what we had. And once again we will meet each other on my floor, to share our secrets again, to feel at home once more. To live, to love, and to make soup.
Final Draft
It’s a pink hoodie. Big silver-white letters spell out the place where she bought it. The place where I saw it on a sale rack in some store, a store which is now much more than just some store to us. It’s a store that sold all that rosy-coziness for just twenty dollars. Twenty dollars left in a place we have both grown to love.
This place is the place with ice cream and jewelry and an old lady falling on her face. With a candy shop and plenty of stores that sell useless junk we can’t help but buy. In this place we tighten the bonds until we cut off our circulation. In this place she picked my earrings and I found the hoodie to transform her into Mykynzy’s child. Soft and huggable, pink and fuzzy. The kind some love to hate. But I love to love. And we love, and we live, and we make soup, and life goes on, and the ones who don’t love don’t matter.
She is Mykynzy’s child, and she is my best friend, and she is leaving. But she’ll come back, and her body will step back into the spirit she left next to mine, and we’ll hope beyond hope that she still fits inside it. Because she’ll be different, and so will I. But we’ll still be ourselves. Time and oceans can never separate us from what we had. She will still be Mykynzy’s child, still my best friend. Forever. And we will meet each other again on my floor, to share our secrets once more, to finally feel at home after six sad months of waiting. To love, to live, and to make soup.
It's a pink hoodie. Big silver-white letters spell out the place where she bought it. The place where I saw it on a sale rack in some store. All that rosy-coziness for just twenty dollars. Twenty dollars left in a place we have both grown to love. A place with ice cream and jewelry and seagulls and an old lady falling on her face. With a candy shop and plenty of stores that sell useless junk we can't help but buy. An overpriced place, but no price can buy friendship so it doesn't matter. In this place we tighten the bonds until we cut off our circulation. In this place she picked my earrings and I found the hoodie to transform her into Mykynzy's child. Soft and huggable, pink and fuzzy. The kind that some love to hate. But I love to love. And we love, and we live, and we make soup, and life goes on, and the ones who don't love don't matter.
She is Mykynzy's child, and she is my best friend, and she is leaving. But she'll come back, and her body will step back into the spirit she left next to mine. And she'll be different, and so will I, but we'll still be ourselves. No oceans can separate us from what we had. And once again we will meet each other on my floor, to share our secrets again, to feel at home once more. To live, to love, and to make soup.
Final Draft
It’s a pink hoodie. Big silver-white letters spell out the place where she bought it. The place where I saw it on a sale rack in some store, a store which is now much more than just some store to us. It’s a store that sold all that rosy-coziness for just twenty dollars. Twenty dollars left in a place we have both grown to love.
This place is the place with ice cream and jewelry and an old lady falling on her face. With a candy shop and plenty of stores that sell useless junk we can’t help but buy. In this place we tighten the bonds until we cut off our circulation. In this place she picked my earrings and I found the hoodie to transform her into Mykynzy’s child. Soft and huggable, pink and fuzzy. The kind some love to hate. But I love to love. And we love, and we live, and we make soup, and life goes on, and the ones who don’t love don’t matter.
She is Mykynzy’s child, and she is my best friend, and she is leaving. But she’ll come back, and her body will step back into the spirit she left next to mine, and we’ll hope beyond hope that she still fits inside it. Because she’ll be different, and so will I. But we’ll still be ourselves. Time and oceans can never separate us from what we had. She will still be Mykynzy’s child, still my best friend. Forever. And we will meet each other again on my floor, to share our secrets once more, to finally feel at home after six sad months of waiting. To love, to live, and to make soup.
posted by Llady Llama @ 10:45 PM
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