Go.

Don't feel sorry for her, because this is not what you think. She doesn't want your pity anyway. That girl that looks like the star of Yet Another, Another Cinderella Story II, in her raggedy red dress and her last-minute thrown together hair. Sad? No. Pitiful? Yes. You probably think that I am a heartless spectator due to my lack of empathy for the "poor" girl. Who would not feel sorry for her? Me. I understand her better than anyone else. I know her inside and out. I've known her from the day that I could knock on her door and get a warm welcome, to this day. A day that I won't even get a passing glance. I understand that that girl's big blue eyes are not the hopeful Cinderella eyes we love to examine, and to lose ourselves in. Better yet, these eyes are absolutely hopeless. These eyes can only see the past. This girl thinks that the future is just another emptied bottle.
When was the first bottle emptied? On the day she first wore that sad excuse for a dress, that red one you see her strolling in everyday. She holds onto it with shaking hands until the folds of her fingers indent it, until she has sincerely forgotten that she has a practically infinite wardrobe. She walks through laundry day after laundry day, not even worrying about the wrinkles. They are the wrinkles he formed, when he cared for her and caressed her. They are all she has left of him and she's well aware that if she makes one swift movement they'll be gone forever.
Your Cinderella-esque girl is a shell of empty hopes and falsehoods. She is not anything special. Not even close. She's just another girl in a raggedy dress that well-resembles her past. She is simply just another someone whom cannot let
Go.

Flame.

You and I spent so many days building. God gave us a hammer and some nails, and trees galore for us to get some wood. We built bridges small and large, we couldn't walk on the simple dirty, cement ground any longer. Oh no, oh no. For you, my love and for me, your love the sidewalk was not good enough. However, after spending so many days building bridges ones' hands get sore and they cannot hold on to those tools any longer. One day, those sore hands couldn't even hold eachother. So we let go. We're still together though. I know it. You might. Together, we are burning all the bridges we built and trying to establish new ones. Watery eyes and calloused fingers, we burn the bridges and we walk away together and apart. I know it. You might. That we are building the same
Flame.

Child

Give me your hand, don't you know that street is a trap? Can't you tell by the dark tar and the way the sun glares off it? Why would you want to walk there with all the cars zooming by? Can you not tell those cars are at least six times your size?
Goodness for goodness' sake, put some shoes on. Aren't you concerned about those little piggies? What if a spider comes along? Are you not afraid of getting bitten? Do you realize that your foot would turn blue, and become 4... 100 times their current size? Why are you walking around giggling? Don't those pebbles hurt your feet? Shouldn't there be tears in your big blue eyes, by now?
Or are you unaware? Do you not know what pain is? Has your mother not told you about your mortality? Are you just another child with a tree branch and invincibility?
I can't understand that your answer to that last question is yes, and you stand clueless, unable to answer the rest of them. I can't recall when I was you. My long, curly blonde hair shading me from the truth of the world's dangers. For now I am brunette woman, and I am shaded no longer.
I will try to understand, that my hand you won't be taking. Yet I will never fully grasp that concept, so with my arm extended you will simply serve me a declining smile. Maybe I will push too hard and get a completely fitful "No".

Innocent, stubborn, invinceable, how long do you think you can stay as a
Child?

Vinyl Rose's Introduction: Wake up...

Hello, I am Vinyl Rose.
An almost complete entity of mysteriously meaningful consistent inconsistencies that loooves oxymorons. ;)
I hope you enjoy reading my blogging, my stories, my quotes.
I hope it is understood that these words are my own.
I hope that I leave you thinking.

Anyways,
As stated in the title... this post here is my introduction. Most people say wake up and smell the roses. I think that the sense of smell and the sense of sight are the two most deceiving.
Why?
Well, you never know the truth of something by just looking once... or twice! and,
one can be allergic to a marvelous smell also add in that what men use for instict in direction is in their nose. Ha!
The sense of sight seems very unnecessary... seeing as how even a blind person can see the beauty in someone.

So, I hope for you to wake up and listen to the roses.
I hope for you to wake up and taste the roses.
I hope for you to wake up and touch the roses.

A roses is a rose when you smelled. and I believe the same usually applies to when they're seen.
Oh, especially to a man.*
But if you touch them... you might find a rose with curved ridges on the inside and smoothed edges.
If you taste them... you might find a rose that isn't quite so chewy.
Oh, and if you just listen to them... maybe even as your fingers brush against them, you might find that most roses are silent... if you are lucky though, you will find a rose with a song to play.

Vinyl Rose to save the day.
Vinyl Rose avec moi avec toi.


*I truly hope that I do not seem sexist! I love men... but... I guess they can drive me crazy at times! My view of them changes a lot, and you will be able to tell later on throughout my blogs.


Complete the entity with Vinyl Rose on Withering Wednesdays.