Once upon a time there was a girl named *BEEP*, sometimes known as Juliana, who's eyes were full of stars and who's lips full jasmine tea and Pocky. In the dark and mysterious world of San Francisco, Juliana walked with a quiet bounce, her journeys leading down cigarette strewn streets and wind blown alleys.
Descending down dark staircases to brightly lit dining rooms, she danced with waitresses bearing mysterious accents and arms full of cannibalistic squab. Biting down on egg rolls as tender as children's flesh, lost in translation, Juliana counted on the kindness of strangers to replace lessons not learned as a child.
Ancient secrets, the very stonemasonry itself, beckoned from opened perch with the clack of ivory tiles and banter; but she would have none of their benevolence. Budda danced in plastic and jade, among soft silk and cheaply buckled shoes... but it was too much, too soon.
Against the wall of Maxfield's, the Pied Piper beckoned (the irony wasn't lost on her.) The night was young and time spent pondering now, lessened potential heartache later.
Sunrise and bonzi, the day was filled with three P's, and in so many ways. Paisley, panache, and pursuit, perhaps? Maybe Pandora perused her vase, looking for a crack to pry her fingers in. She knew only time would tell if the lid was blown; and while time often feels like it needs to tell, it usually has to hold it until later.
Alas, the journey was nearly at an end. No clever bridge would transition her from one land to the next. And Juliana, her eyes full of thought, her mind weighing her options and her lips having a mind of their own, was carried away in the clumsy arms of fate. She was pitched over the edge of indecision. Our heroine... our super hero... our mysterious girl... twirled gracefully into the setting sun. Reveling in the complication she had created.
Descending down dark staircases to brightly lit dining rooms, she danced with waitresses bearing mysterious accents and arms full of cannibalistic squab. Biting down on egg rolls as tender as children's flesh, lost in translation, Juliana counted on the kindness of strangers to replace lessons not learned as a child.
Ancient secrets, the very stonemasonry itself, beckoned from opened perch with the clack of ivory tiles and banter; but she would have none of their benevolence. Budda danced in plastic and jade, among soft silk and cheaply buckled shoes... but it was too much, too soon.
Against the wall of Maxfield's, the Pied Piper beckoned (the irony wasn't lost on her.) The night was young and time spent pondering now, lessened potential heartache later.
Sunrise and bonzi, the day was filled with three P's, and in so many ways. Paisley, panache, and pursuit, perhaps? Maybe Pandora perused her vase, looking for a crack to pry her fingers in. She knew only time would tell if the lid was blown; and while time often feels like it needs to tell, it usually has to hold it until later.
Alas, the journey was nearly at an end. No clever bridge would transition her from one land to the next. And Juliana, her eyes full of thought, her mind weighing her options and her lips having a mind of their own, was carried away in the clumsy arms of fate. She was pitched over the edge of indecision. Our heroine... our super hero... our mysterious girl... twirled gracefully into the setting sun. Reveling in the complication she had created.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
phoebus:
Nicely written words, though I don't know that I should be complimenting something probably directed to someone in specific. 
ghostdad:
I think we must have subliminally expressed our mutual respect for Peter Sellers when we met this last weekend. Did you see that I posted him 5 comments earlier?