"Would you want to go out with me sometime?" He asked.
Faith didn't raise her head still and frowned, her body going rigid.
So, Josiah raised her head for her. Slowly, like she's about to break any second.
"You okay, Red?" He asked.
Faith smiled w...
-----> "You've got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green pools in mid july. You've got to sit next to a man at the train station who's reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You've got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You've got to love yourself."--(via c-oldpoison)
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Let Faith be her name, a smile be her signature, and a rose be her sword.
The mirror had the honor of being traced by gentle fingers of the innocent. As she outlined the area, sharpened the edges, and painted a picture of her beautiful on the gaper, she smiled.
She smiled not because she thought she was worth looking at, she smiled because she was afraid of glowering.
Not of the wrinkles, not of the signs, she was afraid of dialing her soul down. It has been up-beat for as long as she can remember, not one fiber of her body wanted the absence of such bliss.
Her hand suddenly became numb, smile widening even more, she dropped it to her side and winked at the mirror.
Flaunting was the last thing in mind, good energy was the first. The mirror winked back, she was convinced, and then it shut down. Like every time.
She felt like the world wanted her to, but what's an angel if she can't fight off the devil?
What's innocence if it can't dominate evil?
As she walks on the street headed to where she's destined, she smiles at a stranger. And another, And another,
But only one smiled back.
And that was surely more than enough to keep her going. Because she made a person smile. Even though it lasted for a second or two, even though she swore she saw her drop it a moment later, she made those sides quirk up, she made a soul feel spirited and alive.
The familiar verse of a vintage song greeted her when she entered the library. The cinnamon scent filled her nose awakening what was yet to be woken up of her brain cells.
She never knew why Mr. Drew sprayed that kind off perfume in a forsaken library, but she never complained. Because she knew he was freshened up every time he performed his little dance routine, rotating, spraying perfume on each side and each corner sometimes annoying teenagers trying to read a book silently when being disrupted by splashes in their eyes or too much cinnamon in their noses.
But as he always says, "there's never too much cinnamon."
"Good Morning Mr.Drew!" She greeted him at his desk hindering what looked like a nap he was deep into. He woke up startled but a grin instantly sneaked onto his face at the sight of the familiar girl he considered his only friend who does not try to flirt with him.
