Wholeness is lilies

My face was red, I could feel it. The pink, insistent blush creeping up my throat and onto my cheeks, deepening constantly. And I actually threw up my hands in desperation. I don't get it, I whispered to the carpenter under my breath and I pressed my forehead against the wooden table. Am I supposed to get it? Because I really don't, I told Him. I just really don't get it.
I was her. The small woman at her kitchen table two nights ago, reading. I was reading blog posts and magazine articles and listening to sermons about singleness late into the night when suddenly I felt tears pressing on the corners of my eyes and the blush blossoming across my face. They were wonderful. Truly, everything I read and listened to was wonderful.
But they were too much.

I am so tired of everyone telling me what I should or shouldn't feel.

On Being a Woman

I sit at my wooden table every morning here, while A still sleeps + I get to think my gentlest thoughts in the early hours. In a moment of courage, I decided to risk letting you in on my heart. 
As of late, I have been pondering womanhood and the roles I am learning to slip on over my shoulders. Best friend. Encourager. Christ-lover. Little sister. Bridesmaid. Comrade. Aunt. They are all quite beautiful. I wrote a list of them in my journal. And at the very bottom, as my hand shook ever so slightly with anticipation, I wrote two that I want to wear. 
Mother + wife. 

I still have friends who are getting married. Getting engaged. Becoming pregnant. Raising children.
I thought it was only going to be a season, one blur of June to December, and then everything would be still again. I would have that clarity that I longed for in those months of blustery + romantic passions that consumed the majority of my friends and relations. It would be over as quickly as it began. And the pale, rose colored dress would hang in my window. The small felt baby shoes would be wrapped up and sent out. The diamond bracelet would be worn on occasion. The dried bouquets would be glanced at every so often. The tiny paintings and letters about those times would be tied with white ribbons and hidden away for the future.
It hasn't ended though.
It's been over a year since the first. I've come full circle, and I'm beginning to realize that this season isn't actually a season more than it is a new life.

Leonard Woolf.

Dear Fleur.
Today I sat&read Letters To Crushes for inspiration. It is magnifique. Written by shy people. Brilliant people. Confident. Awkward. Petite. Tall. Athletic. Random. Stupid. Wise. Amazing.
All of them are cute.
And one day I hope one of those 'crushers' will find a story written by me, and like it. And then go and tell their little crush how they really feel.
•

"freckled boy,

you're the only person that i can't stay mad at. the only person that can make me laugh with a simple look. the only person who makes me feel on top of the world. but most of all you're the only person other than me who can control my emotions. without you, i'd be lost.

shy girl"

"harold,

you are adorable and funny. every time we have one of our lengthy chats i fantasize about our wedding. we are both cubs fans, so basically you passed the ultimate 'marry me' test. even though you have a silly last name, i would take it because that's how wonderful i think you are.

secretly yours,

margaret"

"This is a problem, gawky boy

My heart plummetted a little bit when I heard that she might like you. She's way prettier than me. And she's really nice, I know. But please...keep heading down the path that you're on. I'm waiting at the end of it, and we would be just magical.

Off-kilter girl"

"Dear Choir Boy,

Sit with me on the plane to New York?

Love, Choir Girl"

"you,

are red, freckled and strong-armed in the best way. a way that wraps around me like down comforters, weighing me down and pulling me deeper into my mattress on snowy mornings. please don't ever leave,

me."

"you,

i like when we sit next to each other and your leg fits perfectly against mine. i like when our feet bump and we don’t apologize. i like this comfort. i like this closeness. i like you.

— me"

"her,

i like it when you ramble.

— him"

"you,

I only allow you to mess up my hair because I like you. I only allow you to steal my french fries because I like you. I only allow you to make fun of me because I like you.

I like you. Too, too much.

Let’s cut paper snowflakes and play Jenga all night forever.

— me"

"virginia woolf,

today you asked me to hold your handbag while you passed your little porcelain palm over your hair (stubborn, you'd called it, stubborn and nasty) and tried to smooth it out. well, while i stood there, i saw one hair thrown out in the sunlight, rising up from the rest and falling down, like a wave; like a poem; and it came to me that moment, watching that one hair, that the sun was there solely for this. for you. and - you had caught it by now, united it with the rest - each living thing lined up, took order, and surrendered themselves under your precious flat shoe.

i would've told you, virginia, right then that i loved you and perhaps forever would. but a cloud passed in front of the sun; you took your handbag back and muttered something about how we must be going; sound rejoined; and the imperfect world thumped on.

in cowardice,

leonard woolf."

•

See why I read them? They make my heart skip a beat.

And whoever that Leonard Woolf boy is, he deserves that girl. Hands down, he does.

Love from Bella.

Blue in the face.

I apologize for the lack of blogging lately. I got busy. But, c'est la vie. And I'm here now.
•
I went off on a little third-person posting for a while there. I kind of like it. So don't go crazy on me if that sort of thing occasionally pops up here and there. Like right now...
•
Her eyes itched. She kept rubbing them. But she only had herself to thank for that. It was almost 12 o'clock after all.
She wore a big, knitted salmon coloured sweater. And a white feathered headband in her hair. And the words of Brain Andreas were all over her lips. She had fallen in love with him tonight. She was jealous of that man. It was the only way to explain it. He had what she wanted. Talent. And it made her heart envious & joyous all at once. She wanted to make people feel the way he made her feel.
She was getting more tired by the minute. She could always tell she was tired when she couldn't remember her French. And right now, she couldn't remember how to say "I like you." She needed to remember that. She was going to say it a lot tomorrow.
Because tomorrow was Valentines Day. She really liked Valentine's Day.
•
"I was waiting for the longest time, she said. I thought you forgot.

It is hard to forget, I said, when there is such an empty space when you are gone."
Brian Andreas
•
Tonight, I want to marry a boy from France. I wrote him a letter. But I don't know his name. I just call him "French boy." And I think I like it.
•
Love from Bella.

p.s. I am holding my breath for tomorrow.