Rebirth.

i never really appreciated poetry until i wrote one poem on a crumpled sheet of paper, jotting things down, crossing and recrossing---for want of a better word (or a better silence)-- until each wrinkle was pronounced with vibrant blue lines and swirly blue loops, and with me, eventually admiring the way each carefully-looped word, each painstakingly-placed punctuation mark made the creases and the crinkles on the paper new again.

Burnt to a crisp.

My mentor said never to write fanfic, but I make exceptions for splendid fandoms. 

Disclaimer: Dan & Blair aren't mine, sadly. 

He finds out she likes things warm and toasty one summer morning when she drops in on him at his Brooklyn loft--though dropping in isn't the defining word; storming in is more like it. 

"Wake up, Humphrey--the world doesn't wait for just anyone and it most certainly won't wait for you, " she says as a way of greeting, slipping into his room with as much fanfare as she can muster.

Despite her wordy exclamation, he hardly believes she is standing there at the foot of his bed in her clingy white dress and black Jimmy Choos (Seriously, heels at this ungodly hour?), obviously unfazed that it is nine in the morning, and from her phone calls last night, he is almost certain the she slept way past midnight. 

He groans as she sweeps away his blanket and draws open his curtain--he is a late sleeper, after all, and doesn't usually appreciate early morning wake up visits from dark-haired girls-- usually being the operating word here. 

"Has no one ever told you that it is exceedingly improper for a young lady like yourself to visit me in such an unseemly state of undress?" he quips, as he points at his shorts and shirt. 

She raises her eyebrow and trips out of the room, calling out gaily behind her, "As if it excites me, Humphrey." 

Her heels make an insistent noise on his living room floor, so Dan pulls on a polo and pants, sighing all the way at this uncalled-for interruption. 

"It's about time. We have plans," she grins as he staggers down the steps--he doesn't have to enjoy this, after all. 

"Can I at least have breakfast?" he pleads, heading to the kitchen, laying a copious amount of butter on two slices of bread.

She tsks at the delay, but waves her hand at him, clicking her heels together once more to signal her irritation.

"Join me, then?" he says magnanimously, pointing to his fare.

"Butter on untoasted bread? Seriously, Humphrey," she scoffs. 

"Besides, I like things sweet in the morning," she mouths as she slips two pieces of bread in an oven toaster. 

"I don't expect we have have any apricot preserves or passion fruit parfait or whatever your deranged eating habits call for, Waldorf."

"Who said I wanted preserves?" she quips, pulling out a jar of peanut butter and slathering on a ridiculous amount of it on her toast. 

Dan watches her, fascinated. He has never seen her consume this much in public,  and he is surprised at the ways she coos as she devours her breakfast, pink tongue licking the filling and morsels crumbling as she chews luxuriantly. 

"What?" she utters defensively,"It's so crumbly and chewy and delicious," she exclaims in between mouthfuls. 

"Here, have a bite, " she says as she shoves some toast in his direction. 

He is instantly aware of how close she is, hovering almost above his lap, face close to his, her hand touching his arm lightly. 

He has no choice, but to nibble on the toast, as he watches her, still incredibly close, finally pulling away the piece of toast, murmuring, "There's peanut butter on your lips."

Before he knows it, she leans in to kiss it away, lips meeting--and it is an honest-to-goodness kiss, tasting of crumbly bread and peanut butter, but a kiss, just the same. She gently sucks on his lip, as he tastes the inside of her mouth, relishing the way they meet each other halfway. 

Or the way they both finally give in.

She pulls away for a moment and smiles, "Now you see why I like my mornings sweet." 

"The peanut butter was just an excuse, wasn't it?" 

Before she gets up to pseudo-attack him on his comment, he pulls her in once more.

Dan Humphrey finds out Blair Waldorf likes things warm and toasty one summer morning.

But he never quite imagined it to include spontaneous cuddles.

There are no words for this.

oh shiz i think i gained twenty pounds

noooooooo

fudge

bloody nooooooooooo

twenty fudging pounds

and they say i dont eat enough at work

[ignoring grammar and punctuation

head is asdfkljkling-annoyed

how do i lose it in two weeks?]

There's something so cliche' about fairy tales.

i don't envy you your fairy tale,
i'm quite satisfied with a real-life story,
your straight sleek hair & designer smile,
they seem to fade away
every time i'm a mess, 
and he calls me cute, anyway


i don't envy you your cinderella story,
i quite enjoy my scuffed mary janes,
elegant gowns and five-inch stilletos
don't quite compare to
the creases in my dress
when he hugs me


i don't envy you your snow white romance,
he spells bursts of colors 
in my horizon,
prince charming measures not to
his rumpled hair 
and gorgeous smile


i don't envy you your beauty sleep,
my eyes are open to drink him in,
prince charming's kisses,
they wake you up
his kisses--
they keep me dreaming


i don't envy you your arabian nights,
my every day is quite different
when i'm with him
who needs a magic carpet?
all you really need is --
a staircase adventure


i don't envy you your fairy tale;
i'm quite satisfied with a real-life story,
for who needs to be rescued,
when you can save each other?

Hurried scribbles in between doing everything else.

Today is one of the days where I just want to curl up in an over-sized sweatshirt on my bed with warm blankets and the air conditioner on, holding a really good book, hot chocolate and moist cake. 

But well, that's not happening. So, instead, I'm probably annoying my fellow co-workers by changing their usual music of R & B to the sort of music that is Bauhaus and P!ATD.

Oh well.  

I'm already feeling better as I write this.