{ The Poet }

“Thank you.” She mumbles lightly, one hand automatically reaching out for the mug that was placed on the table in front of her. She keeps her eyes on the screen of her laptop as the footsteps of the waitress walking away blends with her soft clicking at the keys.

The girl rereads every word, every sentence of what she had just written, feelings poured out from her heart, down her veins and through the tips of her fingers onto the keyboard. She sips at her hot cocoa, scoffing at how ridiculously love sick she was, at how much the romanticist in her showed obviously through her entry of off-key serenades, nightly walks along the beach and happy endings.

Though, thinking realistically, she knows that happy endings only exist in dreams and fantasies and fairy tales and she knows that her life isn't any of those things. Because she isn’t some princess of some far away kingdom locked up in a high tower guarded by a vicious fire breathing dragon; she isn’t some damsel in distress waiting for her prince charming to come save her from danger, white horse, shining armor and all.

And she knows, as she’s putting away her laptop, walking out through the door and down the street that this most certainly is not a fairytale that ends with a bright happy ending.

No.

This isn’t a fairytale because princesses don’t fall in love with their best friends.

 The Clueless }

The girl lowers her camera for the hundredth time that day, eyes lingering on the cuddling pair sitting comfortably on the grass, so happy and so in love she can practically see tiny hearts being transferred in gentle whispers just inches between their lips.

It’s so perfect; she can’t help but take another picture before walking away.

She wonders idly what it’s like to be in love, to look at someone adoringly in the eyes and have him gaze back with the same soft and caring gaze. To hear sweet nothings of admiration brush against the shell of her ear and feel the warmth of his fingers filling the empty spaces between hers or the caress of his arms wrapped securely around her in a hug.

‘What is love?’ she wonders again, looking through the pictures she’s taken of flowers, of clouds, of high buildings and couples. Her thumb halts only a second longer at the pictures of pairings and she wants to know if she’s captured love, but only thinks of happily ever after, promises of forever and hearts that beat so fast they lose their rhythm.

The moment she turns off her camera she’s suddenly crashing, bumping so hard against the other her camera flies out of her hands and she’s glad for its strap hung around her neck. She spins and there’s something warm splattering lightly onto her side, but then someone’s gripping her arm to keep her from falling and it sends tingles through her arm that travel up her spine and back down and she wonders.

‘Is this love?’