Hey All!

So I posted the pitch for Something Like Friendship a month or so ago and it got some great feedback. I posted the first three chapters of the story a while ago. There were more, but I hadn't written any fiction in a long time prior to starting the story and so it kind of fizzled out.

Your encouragement and enthusiastic response made me want to write it again, so I scrapped everything and started anew. The characters and the plot is the same--it just needed some reworking, and hopefully I'll continue on with it.

“ Qu’est-ce que tu veux encore”?
What more do you want?
But don’t use “tu” for her –
you’ll offend and your ignorance flaunt.

This is formal, “vous voulez”
is the “phrase du jour”.
And don’t say “hey!”
“Dis-tu “cou cou””!

How did “cheval” lead to chivalry?
(It involves knights and their kind
and “les règles de la chevalerie”)
Etymology and history intertwine.

But don’t stop there!
“Chassures” versus “cheveux”.
One is shoes, and one is hair.
Confusing them is easy to do.

I think the hardest part about forgiving Emily was the fact that she didn’t trust me.

I can still remember that day clearly. It had been vividly burned into the back of my mind.

It all started when Emily started acting strange. She even started chewing her nails again. We all knew (Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, and me, Dr. Spencer Reid) that something was wrong. But of course, we were too afraid to ask, and even if we did, she only brushed it off.

I stood in the kitchen, sifting flour and baking powder and salt into one of our embellished white bowls that probably wasn’t intended for baking use. On a whim, I added a couple tablespoons of cocoa powder and mixed it all together. I’d spent a lot of time in the kitchen lately, cooking and baking tons of gluten free things. Some were successful. Others were made with noble aspirations and didn’t quite live up to my hopes. But it was okay. I still ate them.

When I get married, my husband isn’t going to have a hard time getting something to eat.

Homespun Dream

I think you've become a homespun dream
One that's vague and commits to nothing
A smiling way to bypass idle time
Today, dream, I looked and you weren't so divine
It was as if all the sudden you were compromised
Of everything I loved and all I disliked
All surface face qualms and no density
Relieved staying power, my dream, you left me
And even if it was just a moment in time
I was without need for you
It was something I liked

Newsprint

i. Crazy
You said to me, not long ago, that we could run away
And I thought that, if you don't mind, we could do that today
Because I'm going crazy staring at the same four walls
And if I stay here longer, I won't get out at all

Would you call me crazy if I asked to take your hand?
Would you laugh and shake your head, or would you understand?
I know that there's not much to do, but maybe if we tried
We could escape together, and we could make it out alive

I was happy for three-quarters of an hour on Tuesday: between the arrival of Shadow Hand by Anne Elisabeth Stengl and a letter in the mail and leaving for my brother’s last at-home basketball game of the season.
I’d spent the morning scrubbing the kitchen cabinets, but that wasn’t a matter of happiness—more like satisfaction and accomplishment. And even the basketball game wasn’t necessarily a gamebreaker; it was only a five-minute drive in, instead of the fifty or seventy-minute drives to the last four games over the past two weeks.

"Tis better to have loved and lost / than never to have loved at all".
-from the poem "In Memoriam" by Lord Alfred Tennyson
______________________________________________________
A heart is not a thing
To be put in a box
(Close the lid with a clang
Pretend love as one talks)
In order to gain
A “pure”, dried up box of rocks.

We're transparent, glassy-eyed,
Empty, lonesome beings
The two of us, far from found,
Turn away from our beginnings

Somewhere, somehow, along the way
The two of us got lost between
Society's dark, unfair walls
And the lines someone forgot to read

I spread my arms, you followed suit
Lying on backs, glaring towards sun
No longer cloaked in our disguises
Our lies, slowly, falling to none

Gandalf: Denethor, the orcs are going to attack Minas Tirith.
Denethor: Humph.
Gandalf: They’re at your doorstep.
Denethor: THEY ARE?! *Starts shouting commands to servants*
Gandalf: I didn’t mean that close, silly.
Denethor: *Calms down* Oh. You think you are wise, Mithrandir, but for all you subtleties you have not wisdom.
Gandalf: That is seriously offensive, young man.
Denethor: I don’t care.
Gandalf: Rohan will help. I’ll go light the beacon.
Denethor: Hu-uh.