Writefully So.>>

Warmer Blues.>>

melissima — Sun, 18 Nov 2012 07:57:34 -0500

…And on the nights your heart feels cold, breathe deeply, and search for the stars… For darkness always sharpens pain, that otherwise melts under the light of twinkling dust. And should you feel the urge to sigh, harbor that tiny wind instead. Blow a kiss with it, and draw nearer the smiles of the world, to warm that heart again…

-m e l i s s i m a.

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melissima — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 08:26:55 -0500

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melissima — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 06:54:22 -0500

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melissima — Fri, 02 Nov 2012 12:57:26 -0400

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melissima — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 21:24:36 -0400

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melissima — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 19:50:25 -0400

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melissima — Wed, 31 Oct 2012 11:09:31 -0400

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melissima — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 08:44:15 -0400

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melissima — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 18:09:19 -0400

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melissima — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 18:07:35 -0400

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melissima — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 18:03:32 -0400

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melissima — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 18:00:02 -0400

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melissima — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 18:39:09 -0400

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melissima — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 18:22:06 -0400

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melissima — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 17:57:02 -0400

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melissima — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 17:51:19 -0400

...Said Steve.>>

melissima — Sat, 28 Jul 2012 01:23:41 -0400

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”

Such are the words of Steve Prefontaine.

I’ve been absent from the walls of m e l i s s i m a. lately; from the haven of my writer’s cocoon, and the body of my author self. But to let decay, again, the project I gave Life to so freely, so unselfishly, so honestly, would be an unwelcome fact upon my fragile conscience.

The flow of ink from my pen lags on occasion. My Moleskine collects dust until I dare, again, confront it. But the storm of ideas that inhibits my brain and blows its way to the core of my heart, never subsides. And so that very wind I shall dance with, to my next choice of capital letter, on my white, blank page.

Unity.>>

melissima — Sat, 28 Jul 2012 00:53:49 -0400

I’m really surprised by the amount of negative statuses and comments I’ve read tonight, regarding the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Of course China’s ceremony will forever be remembered as “larger than life”… but I think there’s a certain beauty behind different countries hosting the games every year, and each opening ceremony, being unique because of those very differences. The technology behind it all, from year to year, is incredible, the colors and visuals are breathtaking no matter what, and the collaboration and near-perfect synchronization of THAT many people at one time, is just beautiful. I don’t quite understand the need to compare… So the English got creative… so they made some choices that many of us probably weren’t expecting… But isn’t that what makes it so great? The fact that it leaves you in awe? A successfully executed project of that caliber is a masterpiece, no matter how odd it may seem for a bunch of Marry Poppins to deploy from the night sky…

Nostalgia is Nasty.>>

melissima — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 10:10:00 -0400

melissima:

Nostalgia is Nasty.

It

Pinches me Perilously.

Makes me Melancholic.

Grips me with Guilt.

Forces my Facades.

Rings me with Remembrance.

Queries me with Questions.

Drenches me in Doubt.

Wastes me in Wonder.

Fakes my Fancies.

Drowns me Dubious…

-m e l i s s i m a.

Coffee.>>

melissima — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 18:46:00 -0500

I wish I had someone to make coffee for in the morning.

Now, I already know what you’re thinking; this is another double-meaning manifesto about Love. But allow me to clarify right here, right now, and before you read any further… that it isn’t.

The fact that I wish I had someone to make coffee for in the morning, has no fancied meaning. If I wanted to have dessert with someone, and wake up to spoil them with breakfast, I would’ve said so. I would have generously avoided the hurdles of poetic interpretation and imaginative frustration that would’ve resided within you, the reader.. And I certainly would’ve spared myself, my cover.

No.

What I wish I had, is someone to make coffee for in the morning. Someone to prepare a mug for; to shower with two spoonfuls of sugar, to let the medicine of their Mondays go down… every day of the week.

I’ve never been a religious drinker, myself. But lately, coffee has become the Maury of my mornings. It’s become an art form… a delicious dose of warmth that livens my otherwise frigid body, as it emerges from the coldness of night. Coffee smells like the perfect winter morning; like the breath I’d smell from my mother’s lips, as she’d snuggle little girl me against her chest, whispering those three little words…

Coffee greets me good morning. If I could, I’d prepare you a cup & let it speak… Of course… hoping it’d wish you the same at your sunrise.

-m e l i s s i m a