New Moons

Depth Perception.

the favorite bulb is the one that shines on a fogged up mirror

the favorite song the one loud enough to escape

sun drips down, sticky and slick,

on to what you cannot wear to the pool,

on to what you cannot eat after 4pm,

moon washes over, tightening, suffocating,

like the covers you wrap around yourself,

like the folds you pinch and pull,

like everything that isn't the same on your face or on your hair or on your hand or in your head

and you can't,

you can't iron it out, you can't cut it out,

every day that the moon gets fuller and every day that the sun gets brighter is the day you realize the beauty in everything but yourself and

every day that you manage to hide behind or be less than or just not show up is another day you compare the beauty in everything including yourself and

that's the day you don't like the results

so how long until our favorite moon isn't full anymore?

how long until it's the one that doesn't even appear?

love always, laura elizabeth.

Les Étoiles.

In the French language, to be born lucky is "être né sous une bonne étoile," or to be born under a good star.

Well, mon petit chou, the sky tonight is looking more beautiful than the one before we met, though it isn't quite up to par to the first time our hands became acquainted or certainly when our lips became lovers, the sky was beautiful when we were thrown together in a scene and even more so than when it was over, the sky was beautiful when it watched us talk on your driveway until an hour too late, and the night we climbed on top of all sorts of things was covered by one of the most beautiful of all,

mais j’étais née sous la nuit avec les meilleurs étoiles, parce que je peux te connaître maintenant.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Sunshine Days.

A lovely little post just to fill you in.

If you're reading this, you probably either care about me to some degree or you're a complete stranger, so I feel completely fine with saying what one of my biggest problems is: I feel so much more inspired when my heart weighs heavier and when my rainboots are downtrodden, which isn't to say that this past month or so has been perfect and joyful at all times but as much as I'm sure you'd love to hear about the stress in my life, that's something I should probably stick to verbally venting to Sarah. I could hide behind the fact that I've been too busy to breathe, almost, let alone write, but any good writer would shake their head at me for merely suggesting it. No, I haven't written because how do you write about one of the happiest times of your life? How do you describe feeling more loved than you can remember? How could I ever put into words the exact way he makes me feel safe even when he's not there because I know I'm in his thoughts the way he's in mine? Why do you think Taylor Swift has so few songs about how great her life is?

The fact of the matter is, there are a million different ways I could tell about how my heart's been broken. I can take the smallest fissure someone's created and write something eloquent about it, given enough passion to. But all I can say about my heart nowadays is that it grows warmer every time he cooks me a meal or makes sure to tell me goodnight, or that he opens literally every door, or that he massages my back, or that he continues to let me tickle him because he knows how much I love it, and I love all of it, and I love him, and I love the way he makes me feel every day even though I don't know how to express it at all, and I can't think of any better way to describe how well we work together than to say we can beat anyone at charades if we're playing together, and I might have a block when it comes to writing about happiness but I hope it's enough to say that I'm happy when I'm with him. So, there you go.

love always, laura elizabeth.