Status: active. :)
Runaway Love
Two.
My alarm clock awoke me in a completely unfriendly way for my 9 o'clock flight. I sat up to rose petals in my bed. Rather then being electrified by the romance, I was scared. I didn't need last minute shows of affection when I was going to be flying to my new home in a matter of hours. My tv was on the homescreen of a DVD, and a sticky note on the remote instrusted "Play" with a small heart scribbled next to it.
I did as told. What played out was a montoge of me. It began with my first dance recital, I was in a baby pink tutu at seven. I was barely paying attention, but grinning from ear to ear. The piano tinged along and I pointed my toes at all the wrong times, and one other little ballerina ran offstage. The video shifted to another, this time I was twelve. Micheal Jackson's "Beat It" was playing and I was in the studio, solo this time. I nearly had to laugh at myself and all the sass that was bottle in my preteen self.
The next video was the first dance Tre and I had performed together. I got coldchills in the remniscence. It was "My Boo" by Usher, when we were fourteen. My younger self smiled at Tre, not the audience. I was watching my first crush on film. Our two talents together were a powerful force, even though we were so young, I remember the applause. More of our partnering follwed; another slow jam performance, then a hard-hitting hiphop one before the last video just from last night.
Script that mocked handwritten cursive then spelled out across the black screen; "We have come so far together, and you are about to make the biggest step of your life. Will you take the next step with me also?" At this point, my heart was beating out of my chest. No, No, NO. Tell me this isn't happening.
The ring box on my bed-side table then came to my attention. Not good. I hesitated to open it. I knew what would be inside, but I couldn't hold back my curiousity. The little red velvet box clinked open and a sparkling, engagement ring with three diamonds stared back at me. I snapped it shut quickly. The question felt like a boa wrapped around my chest.
The last thing I had expected was to be a runaway bride at eighteen. Technically, I hadn't given an answer yet, but telling a person that adores you that the feelings aren't replicated isn't on my to-do list. Luckily, my suitcases were in my room. Tossing them out my window, I conviently crawled with all my belongings (and beghair) onto the open street. I hailed a cab quickly, gave the address of the airport, and gave a sigh of relief.
I did as told. What played out was a montoge of me. It began with my first dance recital, I was in a baby pink tutu at seven. I was barely paying attention, but grinning from ear to ear. The piano tinged along and I pointed my toes at all the wrong times, and one other little ballerina ran offstage. The video shifted to another, this time I was twelve. Micheal Jackson's "Beat It" was playing and I was in the studio, solo this time. I nearly had to laugh at myself and all the sass that was bottle in my preteen self.
The next video was the first dance Tre and I had performed together. I got coldchills in the remniscence. It was "My Boo" by Usher, when we were fourteen. My younger self smiled at Tre, not the audience. I was watching my first crush on film. Our two talents together were a powerful force, even though we were so young, I remember the applause. More of our partnering follwed; another slow jam performance, then a hard-hitting hiphop one before the last video just from last night.
Script that mocked handwritten cursive then spelled out across the black screen; "We have come so far together, and you are about to make the biggest step of your life. Will you take the next step with me also?" At this point, my heart was beating out of my chest. No, No, NO. Tell me this isn't happening.
The ring box on my bed-side table then came to my attention. Not good. I hesitated to open it. I knew what would be inside, but I couldn't hold back my curiousity. The little red velvet box clinked open and a sparkling, engagement ring with three diamonds stared back at me. I snapped it shut quickly. The question felt like a boa wrapped around my chest.
The last thing I had expected was to be a runaway bride at eighteen. Technically, I hadn't given an answer yet, but telling a person that adores you that the feelings aren't replicated isn't on my to-do list. Luckily, my suitcases were in my room. Tossing them out my window, I conviently crawled with all my belongings (and beghair) onto the open street. I hailed a cab quickly, gave the address of the airport, and gave a sigh of relief.