Lovers Waltz

Soft.

Slow.

 The musical intro begins. He wordlessly offers his hand. She takes him up on his offer, slipping her small, dainty hand into his big strong one. He guides her out onto a spot on the dance floor, their shoes lightly tapping on the polished wood as they step, her skirt flowing behind her. They stop, he places his hand on her upper back, she places hers on his shoulder, and there they wait for the intro to end, swaying slightly as they do so.

The song starts.

A simple but pretty box step. They sway and smile, then with the hand on her upper back he gently guides her to the side, causing them to travel around as they dance. A spin here. A twist there. Before they know it they're lost in the music, whirling and twirling steadily to the beat. At some points she thinks she would nearly fly away if it weren't for his strong embrace. Everyone else in the room seems to disappear as they focus only on each other. Now they are truly lost. And they love it. They move, nay, they glide around the floor as their steps flow seamlessly together. They are as one. Wheeling and spinning, their heartbeats now match the beat of the music. This dance seems to last an eternity to them, and they don't mind. They don't mind at all. For here they are happy. Here they are safe in each other's arms, smiling and laughing, their hearts filled with the joy and love only dancing can bring.

 The Lovers Waltz.

Letters

 Does anyone else have one drawer or box you keep all your letters you've gotten - not cards, letters- and sometimes you look in it and you see the variety of different stationaries and handwritings and envelopes from different people who care about you and write to you and it just looks so nice and pretty and you just feel loved? Cause I do. I love letters. I mean, I do love email and messaging and texting, cause its so quick and you can have a real time conversation with someone, and I like that, and I use all of those a lot. But letters are so much more personal. Everyone has their own handwriting and signature and maybe even different papers and envelopes they use, their letters are so personalized. So one-of-a-kind.You can frame special letters and hang them on your wall. Unlike electronic stuffs, you can actually touch and feel and hold letters in your hands as you hear the person's voice while you read the whole page or more of what they are telling you. It's like you're holding a little piece of them in your hands. And you can keep letters forever. Letters are there days or weeks or years later, when you want to take them out in the middle of the night to re-read them and maybe clutch them to your chest while you close your eyes and just remember. Letters are one of those simple things that are just so nice.

An Old Church

I may not be good at writing story lines and stuff, but I like descriptive writing. For my writing class, when we were doing  setting and tone, we had to write a paragraph and create a tone for a setting of our choice For example, a forest, depending on how you write it, could be scary, creepy, happy and sunny, old and nostalgic, or peaceful and calming. I chose an old abandoned church, so....here it is :) The tone I was going for was peaceful nostalgia, full of memories.

  At the end of  a little dirt path lies an old church. One can tell by the faded grey roof  and peeling white sides, it has been here countless years. The large door opens to reveal the still, humble sanctuary within. A faint, sweet smell emanates from the vase of dried, long forgotten flowers by the door.  At the wall by the entrance many little, shining brass hooks are positioned; some up high for large coats and flowing capes, while others are lower, meant for petite over coats and little scarves belonging to small children. The dusty floorboards let out the occasional soft creak. Many pews are arranged in rows on either side of the room.Each one is slightly chipped and worn to a smooth polish by so many hands, but the back ones most of all, for that is where the fidgeting children sat. Dust particles dance and float in the sunbeams streaming through the windows, giving the whole place a heavy, musty feel. Curious vines of ivy , once cut back by the hands of a  diligent care-taker, now peep through the white windows, threatening to creep inside and crawl their way into the still church. At the very back wall hangs a polished oak cross, draped with a faded purple cloth. Directly below lies the podium, where the pastors voice used to boom out passionately on some occasions , yet spoke softly and earnestly at others. The alter, where so many "Amens" and "I do's" were said. On a shelf beside the alter are many old, well-loved Bibles that smell heavily of musty leather, cracked and carresed by so many gentle hands, appraised by so many attentive eyes, eager to learn what the Lord had to teach. Such a still place, such a peacefull place. This surely is a place of memories.