I stick loneliness
Your lips
And the two coins of your eyes
Into my pockets

5 Years

Prognosis: Feeling worse to feel better. Throat isn't on fire - but joints ache and body is sore. I think I beat this thing already. Usually the throat bothers me the most, so I think by tomorrow I should be on the upswing. Which means I'll get back to writing. Hell yeah.

So what do I have to present to you this morning?

How bout a damn powerful piece about the health of this current generation, not ours, but the one below us.

I won't go into details about the video - I'll let it speak for itself, since it has quite the voice, but I do have two quick thoughts about it.

1.) The kid who wants more hamsters? He's my kinda guy. How could you not want more hamsters if you had five more years to live? This little dude is a realist. I like his style.

2.) Dark matter? Seriously? That kid has so much shit on his nose it's ridiculous. Who at that age knows what dark matter is!? I'm pretty sure I wasn't even interested in girls at that point - with their awkwardly shaped bodies and cooties. Ew.  This kid is deff striving a little to much (Andrew Allen!?). Let's be honest, you're not going to find dark matter in five years.

But seriously, this piece is strong. It moved me. Kind of shocked me.

As it states - we're built to move, so lets get out there and do something about it - if not for us, then for them.

Big Love

It's that lovely time of season when everyone in the office begins to get sick and you can only pray that whatever is going around doesn't make it into your system.

Well, I'm battling. I can feel it. In my throat. Trying to grab hold and grow into something. But, I'm loaded up on cold medicine, robitussin, and vitamins. Hopefully I can nip this in the butt before it turns into a full blown thing.

So why do I bring this up? The blog will be effected. Sorry everyone.

But don't worry, posts will still come in - stories may just be on hold, depending on how I feel at night. I think by the end of the week I'll be on the upswing, so next week will return to normal.

So let's get into today's post.

I was at the store the other day and saw Fleetwood Mac's greatest hits album on sale and of course, had to buy it. I had forgotten how good they are. Specifically Lindsey Buckingham. He's extremely talented and looking back into the history of music, seems to be overlooked.

Point in case - I've had this song on repeat all day:




His style of finger picking is amazing. It sounds like he's playing more than one guitar. Oh right - let's not forget his voice and vocal range. He can go anywhere on the scale, nailing every note. Granted, this isn't actually Fleetwood Mac, but just Lindsey, you should appreciate this song, the band, and him.

Oh how I love stumbling upon a classic.

Lands Of Beauty

There is just something about time lapse videos that mesmerize me. Maybe it's the abundance of time - how you feel each minute as it passes by at hyper speed, never feeling quick, but heavy - even though the images are zooming by, each minute is there, and you know it.

Throw in some good music to groove to while the images are before my eyes? You got me. Hook, line, and sinker. I'm lost in the piece for as long as it runs.

So what is it about these two following videos that reach out to me? Well, this first one, by happenstance, if as if you threw my vacation back in July into fast forward. The whole state of California in under three minutes. It has a little bit of everything - the desert, San Francisco, Yosemite (you should be able to recognize the waterfall from some of my previous photos), and of course, Los Angeles. It really captures the wonder of the state, how we have everything at our fingertips - mountains ranges, deserts, plains, and vast metropolises. Simply, this video just bring a smile to my face - makes me proud of my state and leaves me in awe of its beauty.




Now, this second video caught me off guard. I've never had much interest in Iceland. I had heard it was beautiful - if not a tad bit cold (not as bad as Greenland though), and full of untouched nature. We all got glimpses of it this summer in Ridley Scott's Prometheus, but the following video really opened my eyes to how undamaged Iceland's landscape is. Consider this now on my list of places to go. The lush green grass, towering waterfalls, illuminated night sky, glaciers - it all seems so wonderful - almost too perfect to be real. I know I have many places on my list to go first, but hopefully this will be in my future.

Holding His Breath For Her

Since he was a little boy, it had always been a story he had always heard about, passed along between generations, whispered about late at night, in the shadows between buildings, lost amongst the winding alleyways - a tale a father would tell his son as he tucked him in, persuading him to go to sleep. Long ago, when ships were still powered by the wind, an ancient merchant vessel had come into port, looking to restock on supplies before heading out back into the sea. Rumor had it that on board was one of the most beautiful rings to ever be molded - a massive diamond accented with emeralds and sapphires, encased in the purest of golds. It had traveled between lands - never taking permanent residence on someone's finger - traded back and forth between those fortunate enough to possess it.

The seas on the night the ship had planned to leave port were turbulent, tossing the smaller boats tethered to the docks against the pilings, sending the usually present gulls into hiding, and taking away large swaths of the beach with every crashing wave. Regardless, the captain pressed on - unconcerned with the imposing weather. The ship hadn't made it far when the current pushed it out of the narrow channel and into the reef that surrounded the coast - shattering it's back like a twig, casting its content and crew out into the sea, to be lost amongst the swells. By the time the water had calmed the next morning, no one had washed up to shore and all that remained were splintered pieces of the vessel, strewn about on the depleted beach.

By this time in his life, years later, the boy, now a young man didn't know if the ring truly existed, but everyday the weather allowed, men went out into the bay and dove, searching for the precious jewerly. Hoping, praying, they would find it and alter their lives.

He had stayed down for as long as he could. Until his lungs felt like they were going to collapse, his ear drums burst, and his blood boil. His body had yearned for oxygen. The deeper he dove, the more his body wanted to drag him to the surface, make him take a breath - make him live. Every joint ached. Every muscle cried out - pleading with him to not stay down as long on the next breath.

But they wouldn't need to anymore.

As he broke through the surface, breathing deeply, he knew that it was still in his hand, wrapped up in the center of his first. He didn't want to look at it, reveal to the world that he had found it - knowing that others would come after him, try to pry it from his fingers. Although he didn't hold it up above the water, anyone watching had to know he had found something - whether it be from his wide eyes or the smile spread across his face.

He had seen it nestled in amongst two pieces of coral, covered by a fine layer of sand - but it spoke to him - yelled at him, grabbing his attention. It was the most stunning thing he had every seen.

Growing up, everyone in the community always referred to it as their treasure, as if they had found it already, speaking about it with puffed out chests, proud of their imaginary find. They wanted the attention, the fame - to be known amongst their peers.

But none of that mattered to him, all he wanted to be was known to her. And hopefully, when he gave the ring to her, she'd finally know how much she was worth.

She was his treasure.

Whaddup El Lay

Long night.

I'm posting this from work. Boo.

But anywho - I saw this little piece shot on a new kind of camera that is coming out in the near future and fell in love with it. No only because it is my current home, but because it is just damn beautiful.

Enjoy it and everyone out there, have a great weekend.

Beachside Whispers

It had been his routine for the last couple days. Once school was over and all the other kids had filed out of the school, he'd make his way down to the beach. Never in a hurry, for he knew his friend would be waiting there for him, nestled in amongst the tide pools, sitting patiently for him to arrive. It was by happenstance that they met. The boy had been walking down the beach one day, looking for shells and smooth-edged glass to add to his collection when he accidentally stepped on a shell. He lunged back in a panic, not because of pain or discomfort, but because he swore he had heard a little voice, commanding him to get off.

When he looked down - all he saw was a shell, lying there, depressed down into the sand. After a few moments, small spider-like legs emerged, cautious to the outside world, feeling around in the tiny granules of sand, looking for a solid grip. Next came the antenna. Just two - long and spindly. It only took a moment before the legs had propped the shell up and turned - revealing a tiny little face with two beady little eyes, perched upon stilts staring up at him.

Thats how they met. That's how their friendship began.

The boy wasn't exactly sure how they managed it, but he believed with all certainty that it was real. He could hear the crab that was tucked away in the shell before him and it could understand his words. Growing up, his elders had always spoken of the bond between humans and the animal kingdom. How humans needed to protect those creatures around them since Mother Nature and her children was always looking out for them. It was a cyclical relationship and he was learning about it first hand.

At first it was small talk. Where he came from? The sea. Did he have a family? Yes, a long time ago, under the control of another tide. Why was he here? It really wasn't up to him but rather wherever the current took him. He was old - he had seen most of the world throughout his years - epic naval battles, great reefs grow from the tiniest of spores, the nets dragged behind oil spewing boats decimating the balance of the oceans.

But now that he had found this spot on the beach, he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave. He was content in amongst the tide pools. His own little paradise. Self sustaining and protected. For the last week or so, the boy had come down every evening with a new book and taught him of the dry world. How those that lived on the land breathed, ate, slept, grew. The boy read him hymns and poetry - all of the best verses put to paper. He'd just sit there, curled in his shell, staring back up - listening, eyes never wavering from the boy. Absorbing it all. He had so much to learn of this place above the waves. The boy kept reading.

Then one day, without warning, his friend was gone. The boy searched the tide pools and sprawling beach. All he could find was the shell, resting on it's side - empty. The boy couldn't understand what had happened. The tide hadn't yet come in, there were no bird tracks around - it was as if he just wandered off. Maybe he had left in order to find a new, larger home - leaving his old one behind as a souvenir.

The boy had every urge to pick the shell up and add it to his collection - so he could remember his friend always, but he fought that urge. Held back against it.

Maybe someday he'd come back, wanting to relive old memories. And if he did, his home would be exactly where he left it - waiting for him.

Barstool Condolences Pt.8

By the time he had heard the noise - he had been walking for what felt like hours. And it had to have been. The sun had set and the wind had begun howling, picking up the loose snow and casting it into the air like a holiday ticker-tape parade, thrown just for him. His cheeks were raw, covered in the tears that had frozen against his bare skin, his toes were numb, curled at the front of his boots, huddled together, trying to squeeze out any remaining heat. The cold had worked through his hat, into his mind. It was now as vacant as the air that was swirling around him - hollow and emotionless. Cold.

He didn't know how he had ended up here. Walking along the path suspended above the waterfront. It wasn't a place that had brought forth happy memories. The last time he had wandered down to this part of the city was with her by his side - long ago, arms interlocked, smiles on their faces. When he was happy. She was happy. They were happy. Now it was just him, walking over the packed down snow from the couples that had come before him. He could make out the different shoe sizes - how the woman walked closer to the man, snuggled up against him for warmth. What he left behind was nothing special, barely noticeable. Without another pair tracks beside his own, it wouldn't last long - covered up by the snow, a journey taken alone.

At first he couldn't tell if the noise was coming from behind him. It was faint - lost in the gusts of wind that bellowed off the frozen water. Small little crunches that echoed around him. As if the ice out on the lake was cracking under some unknown force. Whatever it was, it was coming towards him. Getting closer. Picking up speed.

Turning around, he squinted, trying to see through the cascading snow, but it was no use. All he could see was the faint funnel of light from the last lamp post down the walkway, like some waining beacon in the storm. It had to be his mind playing a trick on him. The wind was so loud, beating into his ears, making them ring, but when he stopped and listened, he swore he could hear it. Approaching.

Footsteps on the path.

He gave another look over his should and saw the outline of another person, hunkered down, shoulders dropped against the swirling wind, making their way down the path vigorously, undeterred by the lashing snow. He was curious who it could be, out in such weather, clearly determined to continue on to their final destination. Once they left the dim cone of light, they were gone, lost within the grey. He'd just have to wait until they reemerged before him.

It wasn't long until he could make out the figure again - only this time much closer, within a few feet. Whoever it was, they still looked like a shadow, hidden by the wall of white. It wasn't until they were right on top of him that he recognized the color of the jacket and the person's height. It was her. She almost bumped into him before looking up and smiling, cheeks rosy and eyelashes sporting little chunks of ice. Even now, mind barren, body numb with pain, the world around him a complete haze, he was lost in her beauty.

Thats when he noticed the duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

Looking down, she was standing right next to his footprints, closer than any of the other pairs littering the walkway.

Maybe their journey together wasn't over.

Barstool Condolences Pt.7

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

Pt. 5

Pt. 6

By the time he had stepped out of the apartment and made his was down the stairs, careful not to slip on the hidden patches of ice - the snow had begun to swirl about, launching off the peaks of the drifts that had be pushed into place the previous night.

He could feel them all, each tiny crystal as they bounced off his face - puncturing his skin. Thousands of tiny little cuts, too small for the eye to see and far to cold to bleed. Usually he'd cover himself up, drop his head and continue on, but today he left himself open - welcoming the lashing.

It helped take his mind off the burning sensation from the tears that were slowly freezing against his cheeks.

When he was back inside, it was nothing but rage. A deep rooted fire that burned more intensely than he had thought possible. Of course all he wanted to do was protect her. Run over to her, scoop her up and just leave - cradling her in his arms. No plan. No ideas. Just them - together. That was all he had ever wanted. Just another chance. But of course, the anger was there as well. He didn't even want to give the guy of the other side of the door a chance to breath, realize what was going on. All he wanted to do was pummel him with blows. Crack his bones, shatter his perfect smile - crush the hand that he had raised to her. He just wanted him to experience pain.

But when the door opened, rational sunk in. Quick.

The man who was standing on the other side of the frame wasn't at all who he had imagined. His eyes were sunken, hair disheveled. His shoulders were slumped, arms limp at his sides. He was big. Bigger than he had imagined. But he was broken. It was obvious the previous night of alcohol had taken it's toll, wrecked havoc on his body. Any urge that he had to hurt the man standing before him quickly left. It was clear that he had taken enough of a physical beating - his liver was already swollen, stomach churning, joints sore. He struggled just to stay on his two feet. He was just shell of a man. Far too easy to shatter and not worth the cleanup.

As he stood there, across the room, fists still clenched by his side - he saw her face and how she was looking at the ghost that was still standing in the doorway. He could see into her eyes, how they were no longer shades of hurt and fear but concern.

That's when his heart fell down to the floor - to be kicked under the sofa, lost among the dirt and dust. Forgotten about.

He couldn't deal with any of it. Couldn't stomach the thought of disappearing again, discarded from her life, only to become relevant when it was convenient for her. It had all been so perfect. Everything else just didn't seem worth it. Dull. Boring. He knew where he wanted to be. Who he wanted to experience things with. It had all become so clear in those few hours.

Without another thought, he just made his way to the door, not making eye contact with either of them. He just wanted to get out of the apartment. He needed to escape. The look she had given her fiancee was eating away at him. Drilling into his core. Digging into his soul. Gnawing away. Neither of them had said anything, but he felt like he was being double teamed. Attacked from both sides. He didn't feel tall anymore. Nor strong - not the man who had guided her up the stairs as she was crying, wrapped her in a blanket, and just listened to her pour herself out. Rolls had been reversed. He was now the broken down, beaten man who's shell was on the verge of cracking.

When he opened the door of the complex and made his way out into the morning, he paused for a moment, thinking, hoping, he heard her say something to him from the top of the stairs. He had turned, only to be further disappointed by the empty stairwell.

It had only been the howling wind - calling him out into the swirling abyss.

His Alarm Clock

The first few steps were always the hardest. They'd need her full concentration. One foot before the other, dragging her tired body along with them. The carpet was key - her toes dug in deep, holding firm. She knew the hardest part was over - she was at least out of bed - up and moving. Although, based on the speed that she shuffled, one could debate if she was actually up or not.

Every morning, she was always impressed at how well she knew her house. How many steps it took to get from her room to the bathroom. When to turn into it. She was no longer startled by the coolness of the linoleum against the bottoms of her feet - she looked forward to the jolt it sent through her body - aiding in the wakening process. The whole time her eyes would virtually be closed - still heavy from the night's sleep, yet, she'd still be able to find the faucet to the shower and turn it on. She knew the shiver was coming - when the cold water poured out, sending a fine mist into the air only to land on her skin. No matter how many times she waited for it - every time it stole the breath from her lungs.

Standing there, shivering, she'd wait for the water to be the right temperature. Most people would swear it'd burn her skin, but even then, she wanted it hotter. She didn't just want the water to warm her exterior - she wanted to feel it deep in her core, between her muscles, rubbing up against her bones. She didn't want to just feel warm - she wanted to be warm.

And when it was the right moment - she would step in, ever so gracefully, closing the door quietly behind her. Once the water poured over her face for a few seconds, pushing away any leftover grogginess, thats when she opened her eyes to the world - under a vail of cascading water and auburn hair. It just felt right. Necessary to wait that long before seeing the world. She liked the privacy. The space she was able to inhabit - locked in her head - alone. Only the water was able to break her out. Shock her enough to open up - join the land of the living.

She'd just stand there - letting the water beat down on her back, between her shoulders, down her spine, past her legs, and into the drain. She couldn't get out until her skin was pink from the heat and the water was beginning to cool, just when the hot water heater was sputtering its last few breaths.

When she got out, she was much quicker than when she first shambled in. The linoleum was too cool for her freshly warmed toes, and the air in the hallway gusted under her towel - inviting the goosebumps to reveal themselves.

As soon as she got back to the bedroom and flung the door closed, her towel fell to the floor as she bounded to the bed. She'd immediately throw herself under the covers, still covered in tiny beads of condensation, and up against his warm, dry body - throwing her damp hair across his face. He'd always groan and roll over - like he didn't like it.

But he did.

She smelled so fresh. Felt so warm - even against his own body that had been simmering under the down comforter. Her skin was so soft, clean, smooth. It was all a show. He always acted like he was asleep but every morning he looked forward to her sliding in between the sheets - the first moment of the day when he could see her.

There was no better way to wake up.

From Bottom to Top

There was just something about them.

The ways her knees touched when she was standing still. Graceful. Aware of the needed distance between them. Lightly kissing each other.

How they bent when she was wrapped up in a comforter, early in the morning, amongst the haze that still lingered in her brain, contorted and twisted on the bed. Still able to look elegant.

The way a dress could fall over them, cover them - but only enhance them. Make you focus on them more. Their shape. Their length. Their color. Even when hidden, they were as lovely as ever.

How her toes curled around the straps of a sandal - holding on but more than ready to be out in the fresh air. To announce their presence to the world. Proud to be out.

Soft - like warm silk. Their heat attracted you. Pulled you closer - to touch them. Get the chance to feel them. Graze them.

He loved the freckles that dotted them, like some young child had flipped to a new page of connect the dots, but walked away before ever starting. Spread out with no discernible pattern. It gave them character - her character. It reminded him how perfect imperfection was.

Each little scar was unique. A brief moment of past pain that now brought a smile to his face. He had learned where each one was - how it felt. They were his road map.

These were the little details that made life better.

Cindering Sky

For the last couple of years - he had always wandered down to the shore, late in the afternoon, when the birds would cease their chirping, nestling into their homes between the dunes, and the creatures that had been asleep all day came out of their burrows, noses to the air, ready to find their dinner. He came down to find solace.

To let go of his worries, lost amongst the churning waves and sea foam, alone to drift out to sea.

It was when he was able to breath. Deep a pure. Expel all the filth that had built up in his chest. The pressure that left was phenomenal, unlike anything he could describe. He felt light as a feather, as if he could float up amongst the clouds as they burned brightly in the sky.

But recently, all hadn't been right.

He had come down to the shore, planted himself on the cool sand, hands in his pockets, waiting for the sun to fall, illuminate the sky with a fiery glow, shine against his face - warm his core. It had been a while. He even tried arriving earlier, thinking he had missed it. No - the clouds were still dark, ominous, hanging lazily over the water. He knew the sun was back there, bright as ever, but it didn't shine through. It was disappointing. But he didn't mind. It was that time of year - when the weather turned, the air cooled, and darkness arrived sooner, knocking on the door even before dinner was on the table.

He'd just have to wait for the Sun to reveal itself again.

Smiling as bright as ever, drifting out from between the bulging clouds, welcoming him back.

Places To Go People To See

So, tonight I got back into the Tuesday pickups games for frisbee and as a direct result, you all suffer. My writing has been put on pause since it's late, I still have to eat dinner, exercise, and study Spanish (a text book and workbook came in the mail today - I'm stoked).

Anywho - I thought I'd present you with some lovely time lapses to keep you occupied.

To go along with my recent vacation, which I still can't believe was almost two months go  (seriously - where is this year going), these are places I want to travel to. Something about road tripping through my state gave me the kick in the ass that I've needed to travel and explore. Ireland is definitely next, hopefully throw in a Spain trip, so my studying doesn't go to waste, Asia, and maybe Brazil - who knows.

This first one is Northern California, Washington, and Oregon and it is absolutely breathtaking. I really only want to see it in the winter like these videos showcase:




Next is Asia - specifically Tokyo - but anywhere will do. China, Taiwan, Indonesia, Vietnam, etc. Their culture looks so damn fun and a complete 180 from ours.




I hope you all enjoyed these as much as I do.

The scheduled story time will continues tomorrow!

Kick To Freedom

Everyday they waited. Not for the school bell to ring. Not for the bus to pull up to the corner of the street the lived on, opening its doors and letting them out.

No - they waited for that special time, when the sun would begin to fall rapidly, plummeting down below the edge of the trees and surrounding favelas, as if it had somewhere more important to be. That time of night that the sky would bleed red - a crimson that quickly faded to black, revealing the stars in all their glory. Right before the last bit of color would drain from the sky, the lights would hum to life - bathing the field in a clean white swath - presenting the lush green field.

They'd be waiting, sitting in their living room, ears keen for the sound of electricity pulsing on. The lights had a very distinctive "click." The moment they heard it, they'd be out the door. Running as quickly as they could down the sidewalks, through neighbors' backyards, over fences, and around trees. Pumping their little legs.

Their first steps onto the grass were always memorable - even if they did it everyday. It felt so soft beneath their feet, through their cleats. Each blade of grass seemed to reach out and embrace them, wrapping around the bottom of their shoes, holding them close - welcoming them to the field. Each one loved the smell for different reasons - it was fresh, it smelled wild, like nature - it smelled empowering. It was just the two of them, running around, chasing a ball, passing it back and forth. Laughing. Smiling. Falling down, feeling the turf against their skin, rolling around.

To anyone looking in, they just looked like two young boys, horsing around with one another, acting their age - doing exactly what they should be. But to them, they were on the grande stage - surrounded by thousands of fans cheering their names, wearing jerseys with their numbers on them, in the middle of a giant stadium, representing their families, friends, and country. When they were out there, they could do anything, be anyone. They were heros.

To them it wasn't just a field. It was their future.

A way to escape the slums.

Underwater Goddess

It didn't matter who was home - whether she was alone or in the presence of others. All that mattered was that the sun had gone down - dark enough that she felt hidden from everything, enveloped in the blacks, shrouded from the world. Stranded.

When everything was silent and all she could hear was the occasional gust of wind playing amongst the slumbering grass or the chorus of crickets that performed every night, she'd sneak out of the house, careful not to shut the sliding door too loud, tip-toeing along the edge of the deck, avoiding the boards she knew would moan under her weight and announce her presence all the way to the edge of the pool. She'd stand there - just staring into it, waiting for the right moment. When the water was completely still - like glass. She knew it was time when the dark hid her reflection - just a dark portal - open and inviting.

That's when she'd step in. Not quickly, but not slow enough to let the coolness of the water deter her from going in any further. She wouldn't stop. She'd continue forward, step after step, continuing as the water would pass her hips, her belly button, her chest, until it hung right below her nose. Taking one final deep breath, the rest of her would go under - forward, until she was hovering in the water, suspended, lost in the inky abyss around her.

Arms spread out, legs dangling, lost amongst the absent current, she'd listen closely. The occasional air bubble that would escape from between her lips, sprinting to the surface, only to disappear with a quick pop. Her heart thumped in between her ears - beating against her chest. Pumping the blood that was in her veins. She could feel it begin to slow down, churning less and less, her muscles loosen, her body ease - the stress seeping out of her pores and getting lost amongst the chlorinated water.

When everything seemed to slow down and the noise from above the water drowned out, thats when she'd imagine that she was in another world. Surrounded by creatures that lived in the water - men and women, just like her, but from below the surface. They welcomed her, embraced her. They never asked her questions, never scolded her - just took her for who she was. It was absolutely enlightening. She imagined she could swim anywhere she wanted. The walls of the pool no longer existed - melted away, no restrictions. It was her escape. Her land.

For as long as her lungs would allow, she was an underwater goddess.

Christmas Dues

Christmas had always been his favorite time of year. Going out with his father to pick the perfect Fraser Fir, careful not to get sap all over his gloves. Stringing the lights with the rest of the family - music playing in the background, everyone singing to the songs they enjoyed most. The smell of the house - fresh and inviting, filled to the brim with the scent of pine, spiced apples and pears, cookies fresh out of the oven, waiting on the oven rack to be devoured. He loved opening the advent calendars every night, curious what shape he'd reveal - especially when he'd forget and have to catch up - a perfect excuse to eat even more candy before getting tucked into bed.

The house always felt warm. Not only from the smells, extravagant meals, and presents stuffed under the tree, but from the blooms that lingered in the air. Even though the tree was off in the living room, everywhere he'd walk, the hallway, the dining room, it all radiated a hazy glow, like candles had been spread throughout - welcoming him into each room, making sure he never felt alone.

Of course he loved Christmas morning, when he was allowed to attack the presents. Dive into them, fingers clawing at the wrapping paper that his mother had spent so much time on, smoothing out the edges, taping down corners, placing bows on delicately - only to be hungrily torn apart. His parents always joked that when he was older, Christmas morning would take longer, with each present being handed to him at the right moment and the story behind each told. It all sounded well and good, but he wasn't older - that would come later - so his massacre continued until no present was left shrouded.

There was only one time of Christmas he didn't enjoy - now.

The time when the family stopped by. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his aunts and uncles, but it was the estranged, older family that managed to crawl out of the woodwork that one time of year. The group with the heavily applied makeup, beehive hairdos, offensive aftershave, that were supported by walkers. He'd hide out in his room for as long as he could. Tinkering with his new toys, playing music, locked away. If he made it seem like he wasn't there, maybe they'd believe it. But that was never the case. He'd always hear them enter the house - their cackling laughs echoing up the stairs. He'd smell their perfume, pungent, seeping under the frame of his door. It reminded him of flowers picked a long time ago, left out in the sun to dry out and die. It smelled old.

Every year, he'd end up in the inevitable position that he now found himself in - his cheeks squished firmly between the gnarled fingers of some great aunt. He always wanted to pull away, turn his head, shake free, but those fingers always surprised him - as old and fragile as they looked, he swore they were made of iron, locked like a vice.

And there was nothing he could do but wait.

Just wait and wait for those bright pink, puckered lips to descend upon him.

Ensemble Décennies

When his button snapped off and fell into the sink, circling the drain ever so slowly - taking its time, meandering around the porcelain before falling down into the pipe, lost forever, he knew it was going to be a bad day.

He finished getting ready, shoes tied, socks pulled up, coat wrapped around his shoulders, what little hair had retained residency on his head had been combed neatly, falling into place, slicked down against his skin. He was the picturesque un vieil homme - as if you'd see him in some tourist guide. He stood up determined. No lost button was going to get in the way of his special day.

When he finally made it out onto the street - he couldn't help but marvel at how wonderful a day it was. The sun was shining, lost amongst a sea of blue, dotted with the occasional grouping of clouds - the perfect amount to provide a break from the heat. The birds were awake, chirping proudly from within the trees that lined the Seine, calling out "Bonjour," "Bon De Vous," "Ca te va bien" as he passed by - adding a slight spring to his step and bringing a smile to his face. Maybe the day wouldn't be so bad.

His first stop was next to the river. He just stood there for a few moments, looking down into the water, leaning on the railing in front of him - his hand gliding over the smooth limestone, taking notice of every crevice, letting his wrinkles mingle with its.

When he walked into his local bakery, he was not surprised to find the line long. It smelled especially fresh today. The yeast stung his nose - deep in his sinuses, made his mouth water. It was as if he could already feel the warmth in his mouth, the crust between his fingers. Thankfully the line moved quickly, but by the time he reached the counter, eager to place his order, the last loaf of bread that he always bought was gone - given to the young boy in front of him. But before he could walk out of the the store, the baker caught his attention, "Pardon?" Turning around, the old man saw a loaf of his bead, fresh out of the oven, steam still rising, crust shining brightly. The baker had a wide smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, "but for you, of course!"

Everything seemed to shape up. His bottle of wine was on sale, much fewer Euro than he had anticipated. The market was full of fresh produce, tomatoes, squash, zucchinis - everything he needed. The metro was the opposite of crowded - he hadn't needed to fight for a seat, hoping to give his old bones a rest. Even a young gentleman gladly made room for him so he could sit by the window and gaze out at the city streets as they passed by.

He had lived there so long, but his love for Paris has always remained. The shapes of the buildings, the tree-lined boulevards, the fashion, the smells - his home. It had all wowed him for as long as he could remember. It was called the City of Light for a reason - it always glowed, had this radiance. She had always been his and she always would be.

When he got home late that evening, he shambled right to the kitchen, eager use all his freshly acquired ingredients for dinner. The process wasn't the most beautiful thing, nor the quietest, with the occasional dropped utensil, but the finished product was something to behold - true french cuisine. It stood bold and proud on the plate, ready to represent its culture.

When he walked out of the kitchen, he carried two plates with him, placing one at each end of the table. Sitting down, head bowed, he said his prayers. Finished, he looked up at the framed picture hanging on the wall, of a beautiful young woman, posing in front of the Seine, the same spot he stopped at earlier in the day - absolutely radiant - flowing hair, soft cheeks, eyes that proved how big her heart was.

He raised his glass of wine and smiled,

"Voici une autre année ma chérie - tu es avec moi tous les jours."

Sprawled Italian

It was just one of those lazy days, when the heat sent everything into slow motion. The air shimmered off the cobblestones, sweat soaked through the shirts of everyone that passed by - every piece of shade was inhabited by someone or something wanting to escape the overly eager sun. It was the kind of heat that was miserable, but somehow managed to make you feel alive - so hot that every breathe woke you up. Rocked the core. Kept the body awake, even though the only thing the mind wanted was to curl up and fall asleep.

These were the kind of days that she really enjoyed. The kind of days she looked forward to. While everyone else was caught in the heat, moving at a fraction of their normal pace, she was able to get out and about, unbothered by the tourists who usually lined the streets, the bumping shoulders, loud noises, passing cars. Everything she wanted to do had gotten done - slipped out of the house, stopped for a quick drink, a bite to eat, visit some friends. Catch up. Breath a little bit.

The previous night had been tough. There had been a party at the house. All she had wanted to do was sleep - curl up on her bed and block out the word. Shut her eyes and have everything disappear. Her bones were tired, mind spent. But everything had just been so loud. The cackling of the dinner guests. Knives and forks scraping on the china plates - chairs squeaking across the wood floors. She tried to move, find some nook that was quieter than the last, but she couldn't. Just when she thought she had found somewhere to escape to, someone would walk over and bother her. Wake her up. Call out her name. Startle her. She hated when guests were over. If she wanted to be bothered, she'd be out and about, mingling with everyone. What was so hard to understand that if she wasn't around, she didn't want to be.

But today was different. It was good. It hadn't been stressful. Exactly what she needed. Now was the time she loved the most - when the sun was setting, almost lost below the terra cotta rooftops. The heat was bearable and the Sun's rays had diminished enough that they didn't burn her skin, but soaked in, radiating deep to the core, warming her body. It brought a smirk to her face - enough to curl the corners of her mouth.

***Pitter patter - little shoes running along cobblestone***

Perking up, she knew that sound. Please let it be her imagination. She didn't want the day to end this way. Everything had been so perfect up until this point.

***Giggling in the distance***

Before she could do anything, there it was - the neighbor's bambina, smile on her face, eyes gleaming. Only one thought obviously running through her head "gatto!"

With a hiss, she got up, shook out the tiredness in her limbs and bound off down the street, looking for an alleyway to dart down or window ledge she could hop onto.

Thus was the life of an Italian tabby.