No one had ever called her beautiful, but there had been about her a compelling fragility, the illusion not only of her bones but of her eyes. It was not that her eyes were any memorable color (hazel, her driver’s license must say), any extraordinary shape. It was simply that they seemed larger than anything else about her, making her very presence, like that of someone on a hunger strike, a kind of emotional claim. It exhausted him to look at her now: her eyes were too large.
“John Green isn’t that advanced, actually. If you look at the main principal, every tale is a revisited version of the previous, and not to mention the only viable differences are the names and places.”
“Oh okay, and pinky promise on that? At least Peter didn’t hear that, you know how he is with this kind of stuff.”
“You’re welcome. I didn’t buy any gifts, but I made some spaghetti. Does that count as a gift?”
“I swear on my life,” she extended her pinky finger toward him, not allowing her smile to weaver at the mention of Peter; that was, of course, the source of many arguments. But Tootles didn’t know that, nor would he. Much like any married couple with their children, they kept things hidden for the sake of the youths contentment. At least, Wendy did. Peter was a mere boy himself.
“Oh, now. You say that as though I’m expecting gifts. I think you’ll find your company is more than giving enough.” Her lips pursed in thought. “Hm, spaghetti sounds quite lovely.”
“You can’t grow up Wendy, I thought you said you didn’t want to grow up.”
“But happy birthday.”
“Oh, Tootles. You do know growing up does not entail everything dismal; mustn’t you? No one can stay young forever—- only in their spirit. I’m not going to change, not for the world. I promise you. There are many joys in growing up, some of which you will see one day. There is so much more. And I hope one day you will be able to recognize it.”
“I know.” The male replied quietly as he leaned his head to one side, he was genuinely enjoying this situation. “Sometimes I think you forget I was your best friend.” He teased her shaking his head, amused with all the memories this situation was providing. “I don’t like that much of ice cream.” he shrugged a bit. “Yes, I do like it, but it’s a desire from the moment, I wake up wanting ice cream, rather than that I don’t eat it, never knew why.”
She pursed her lips as she leaned back against the leather seats, playing with the straw in her drink absent-mindedly. “Sometimes I think you forget your persistent demeaning comments and teasing when we were younger too,” Wendy smiled weakly; not wanting to dwell on what once was, rather what they had come to be. “I have a sweet tooth, I’ll admit– but selectively, of course. My, I’ve always suspected the reasoning behind it to be all those desserts from dinner parties when I was younger. Back then it was all I wanted; especially my mother’s home-made pie. It’s become more of a treat.”
me: its me. its us. its humanity, stripped. this is our true nakedness- we are painted with stars and consumed by the cosmos, only to come back again brighter than before. my heart is the sun and my soul is the void.
