Lovely Little Words

The Hottest Of Days

She sat in the backyard on the hottest day of the year. Everyone was under shade, in the​ waters at the beach, or hidden behind their fortress of airconditioned comfort​. Not her.

The girl sat in the brilliant sunlight like a fading statue while the ​wisp of black hair escaped from her two pigtails​ and matted to her fine damp​ neck. She used the back of her palm to wipe the sweat from her freckled forehead​. Madness, they said. She was absolute madness. It had nothing to do with the thermometer reaching 118 degrees outside or that the rays were burning her pale, almost translucent skin. It had everything to do with her mind.

But it was only because it was untouchable and it all started with a question.

“How could you like this song?” It was asked​ by a Japanese foreign exchange​​ student that added to her mother’s​ long collection of foreign students who swept through the house, semester after semester. They came, conquered, and left back to their motherlands life heroes​. She stayed.

The song was rap. It talked of women bent over with a baby on her back. The men ragged of hustle, hustle, and then, of course,​ DOUGH. So damn original and sincere. Very appropriate​ for all ages as it blasts​ on the radios in every car, stereo​, and home (all day everyday, baby). So on a regular day when the ordinary American girl with unordinary features sat in the kitchen looking out the​ window with music in the background, Kengo came up to her and looked her in the eyes. She had no idea what he felt. His expressions were like​ looking for color on a blank piece of paper.

“How could you like this song?” It had been the first time in a month that he had come downstairs to make an effort of conversation. Kengo took the tiny rusted radio in his hands and threw it on the floor, instantly shattering the ancient artifact​. Before she had a chance to answer or move, he was gone back to his fortress of solitude and books. She looked at the broken radio but only saw the words of the question floating in the air above the only evidence of his emotions.

That night she lay in bed and thought about his question. Maybe it was the radio crashing into the linoleum​ floor or the lack of music which had once filled her mind but she could think of nothing else but the WHY? She didn’t​ know why​; she just did. She couldn’t relate to the words. What the hell did she know about twerking it hard? Her hustle consisted of waking up in the morning and scheming for pocket money from her parents. When she tried to play the song back in her head, there was nothing. Why…

After that day when she woke up in the morning she met every moment with that very same WHY and if it didn’t hold her interest for more than 11 seconds, it was left in a pile of dust covered forgottenness. And so the rest of the world thought she was crazy. She didn’t talk about the things everyone else talked about. She didn’t complain about the heat because she thought it felt so much nicer than cold. She walked the streets looking up into the clouds because she no longer had the ​patience for people around her who loved what they loved because they were cornered into loving it. They weren’t shown the different gardens in the world. They were only given daisies and weeds.

Thank you Kengo, she would sometimes whisper to herself (which certainly didn’t​ help her standing in society), You helped me see the orchids, ​lilies​s, the blossoms, the plumerias. All in the form of a broken radio and floating question.

Think for yourself lovely.
xoxox

Lindsay Reva
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His Eyes

His eyes made me feel.

Under his gaze,​ I felt everything and yet couldn’t connect anything. Excitement​ wanted to know why I felt scared. Hurt wanted to know how I could have felt loved. Madness​ wanted to know why I felt so lovely. They made me feel, but that was just what happened when I looked into his eyes.

Like a rose in Harlem, grown from the concrete. Like looking up on the clearest night and seeing 14,000 constellations at once. When I look into his eyes I can see his dreams, dreams which meant so much more than me. When I look deeper I see his fears, his lies, and his pains for telling so many lies. When I look in his eyes and see myself in the reflection, I see forgiveness. In his eyes, I can see his trust but I also see a paper thin veil​ that makes him hold back.

When he looks at me I only see his eyes. When he stares too long I can feel vibrations under my feet as if the earth is trying to send me signals. Sometimes they feel so strong I look to the plants to see if I heard correctly. The vibrations started small until I feel warm. The warmth barely​ last. Like a small flick of a match turned to walls licked by flames. When his eyes left me, I felt like a fleck of ash floating in the breeze hoping I’ll drift away to the sea.

Away. His eyes were beautiful because they took me so far away. To a world where nothing matters​ except the way his glance hit me. A tornado in the ocean, ripples turn to tidal waves. His eyes would take me further until the path was no more styles and manicured, but curved into a wilderness of his reality and ego. The deepest I’ve​ gone in his gaze, the more savaged and uncut the garden.

His eyes are beautiful. When I look into them, I see the most glorious blossoms. Tiares that smell of heaven. Orange and purple Hibiscus, Birds of Paradise taller than trees, roses taller than buildings. I see something that I thought I would never see.

When he closes his eyes, I want nothing more than to kiss each eyelash​.
But I don’t.

Instead, I blink away my fantasies and wonder what he sees when he looks into my eyes.

xoxox,

Lindsay Reva. ​
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I Know It’s Been Awhile

But I just wanted to tell each and every one of you that you are special, and I hope you know it.
When you open your eyes in the morning are you not happy that you have one more day to be alive?
When you look into the mirror do you see how bright your eyes shine whether there’s gloom or rain outside?
When you drive to work, are you not ecstatic about the thoughts going through your mind because of the purpose and meaning that are the driving factors behind those sentiments?

I am.

And when the days pass by far too quickly, work done until even my lovely bones are tired, I am content because every day I have here is another day that I have striven to make my life meaningful. Through smiles, projects, words, breathe. My days were the makings of a human being in the pursuit of purpose.

Whether you know your life’s​ meaning or​ not, I hope you can at least​​ appreciate every day​ you get out of bed. You always have a choice to take a step on the path of happiness. Always.

Be good in your waking moments’​ lovelies. Leave the bad in midnight dreams. We’re living inreality​y.

xoxox
Lindsay Reva

Don’t You Be Afraid

Hello Darling,

The things you want in life are simple. They enter your vision, process through your mind, and flutter around in your heart.

When they settle, their wings tickle your insides and even though they are softer than a delicate snowflake, what they do to your soul has more power than the vibrations of a thousand elephants rushing away from rebels. The reverberation got you shook.

The only way to heal it is to listen.

So listen carefully you lovely piece of work. Keep your eyes open, feel with you heart, and don’t ignore the calling within your soul. If you want something you can easily go get it.

The only thing that can stop you is yourself. Don’t even try to put the blame on others.

Have a beautiful day hearts.

Xoxox

Lindsay Reva

Mua @_the_pretty_swagger 📸 @ TEVA

Plot&Plan

Yesterday was simply beautiful. I helped organize the Service and Celebration of Life of a family friend, a family who I hold close to my heart.

Seeing them happy despite​ the​ circumstances, made me forget(my pain). Seeing them smile, made me remember(my happiness).

Gratitude forever

Xoxox

Lindsay Reva

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