Dear Fleur.
I am at school. Writing my essay. Sort of. I kind of just want to go lay in the chair in the corner and pull my yellow sweater over my face and sleep. I won't though. Because I am writing my essay.
I was reading Joel last night, and then I had a dream that someone gave me a whole paper sack full of pale pink peonies. It was pretty darn amazing. That's probably why I am so tired. I woke up thinking about the dream and couldn't really sleep after. I was busy drawing peonies last night.
I haven't worked on Norm The Tie Man for 5 days now. I feel really bad. But everything is crazy. There is just so many birthday presents I need to finish and wrap and send and keep. I AM ALMOST OUT OF RIBBON.
My French is suffering. Remind me to get the snowball from Rog tonight so Victoria and I can have a lesson next week. Okay. Good.
Now.
Back to my essay. And then when Mandy gets out of math she and I will have quesadillas for lunch. I made them with muenster and avocado and turkey. But I forgot my tea. I was going to make tea this morning. Zut alors.
Love Bella.
Dear Fleur.
•
She was upset of sorts. It had accumulated throughout the day and bottled up inside her chest. Too many short stories. Too little tea. Busyness. Having to do laundry. Wanting her bicycle to be fixed. And now this. This completely amazing man. And the words he wrote.
"I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days---three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain."
It was almost maddening.
So what did she do? She screamed in her pillow of course. And her two sisters never even paused their conversation a few feet from her. They didn't even look at her. They just let her scream. And suddenly it didn't matter anymore. Because they understood. And they didn't think she was crazy. She was just...her. Herself. And in that minute, she was mad that John Keats was dead.
But they were fine with that.
'Thank heavens for sisters,' she thought. And went to join their conversation about dresses.
•
Right this second I'm sitting on a hard chair wearing a little dress Ria made and a green shirt. There are some twigs in my hair. And I'm tempted to go make myself some chai tea. We're headed to the Church to do a little interview. Today is cold. And I think it tastes like plums picked straight off the tree. I've been working on a lovely little short story. It's actually upsetting me though. I can't decide which guy to choose. And they're both perfect in their own way. One literally is perfect actually. Maybe too perfect. But does she deserve someone who's not perfect?
I JUST DON'T KNOW.
The part I love the best so far:
A bathtub filled with peonies.
What girl wouldn't fall in love with that?
I guess I'll just have to play it by ear. Write it by ear really. Can you do that? Just wait for the story to figure out its own outcome? Maybe one of these minutes, in the quiet on the kitchen floor, his name will be whispered in my ear. And I'll know she's supposed to love him, and, well, not him.
Why did I make two boys?
I'm ridiculous. More screaming into my pillow is in order. But first, walking to the Church for an interview.
Love from Bella.
