Crafty Words and Gold Sea foam
"If I were to tell you of how gracious I am of summer rain and sunny winters, I would fill up many 20 chapter books," she had said this in a whisper. "And you, sir? What is the deepest gratitude that you feel as of right now?"
In a bed she lay in contemplation and in the lightest pink dress imaginable. The party had just ended, although she knew another was coming. This land and this heart she had had been better because he were around.
"I would say… that it would be the blessed gift of sight." He hesitated. "…For I see the color in words." What was he saying? He had said the first thing to come into his mind.
"The color in words? You are not my jester, but you surely make me smile. Please explain your thoughts?" She smiled, for she was falling in love with his thoughts.
"Well my Princess, when I close my eyes, and you are speaking to me for illustration, I see the lightest shade of pink. That is what I hear and that is what I see. Will you not try?"
"You know I am the one to imagine, so you have no need to propose." She closed her eyes and opened her mind to what she was about to see. "Tell me a story; my age does not grow younger." She smiled as well as he.
It seemed as of a miracle that he did not stutter to speak softly of a story.
"Once upon a time, there was a world just as Earth, although the sky bluer than the ocean and the ocean greener than the sky. The fish had smiles as wide as my arms and the whales and mermaids had bonds of color and friendship. Otters flop up and down. 'Flop-flop,' they go." Silly smiles had filled the room.
"None of them fretted, for God's lullabies are with them always.
'Sleep, dream, cream-filled cakes. Do not be scared, I am with you always. Pray, kneel, cry. Twinkle, count your tears, you are mine. Kimonos and rain-coats, crafty words and sea foam, do not groan, for I am with you always.'" He stopped and paused.
"What colors do you see, Princess?" He asks through his breathe.
"Well, I see blues and creams and not-so-brooding grays; blameless pinks and clear waters from the way you describe tears. It's beautiful." She paused. "Please tell me more?"
"Ha-ha. Dear! This is a love story. No need for too many tears." He continued on.
"Then you do not know a true woman, sir."
He went on. "There was a mermaid named Lorelai. Lorelai was among the plenty, but she was not a part of the plenty. She had an original peculiarity about her, and that was that she had been drawn. That was her existence; her hair was of ink and her fingers of blue color. The first thought of hearing this is, 'Wow, an awkward trait that is—if you truly consider it a trait.' But she surely did treasure this oddity about her. Remember, this is a beautiful world filled with every kind of beauty. If only we could embrace it, for we have beauty, too." He stopped with this, because it was midnight. None of them were tired of the fiction, but of the day.
"You have such a way with words; I see the blue bursting out of the seams of the novel you've painted for me in my mind. Gosh, this is so humiliating, the words I speak are so silly and childish."
"Well, so are mine. And, I thank you with all honesty my lady."
"May you continue, please?" She yawned, but tried to cover it up.
"Later, I promise you. I want to keep you intrigued. I really don't want you to lose interest."
"Oh, I know that will never happen." In her heart, she just about split open with anticipation to hear of Lorelai's tale.
He took her hand and led her to the door where he would finally say a goodnight. "Good night, I will see you tomorrow bright and early on." He closed the door behind him and briskly traveled down the twirling staircase.
As he walked off, a slight pinkness in his cheeks. He was close to rupturing, too.