A New Morning
The pure morning sun illuminated the dinginess that encompassed every corner of the cheap hotel room. Her blue eyes unwillingly flinched to the new day as she struggled to remember how she ended up in this place. Blonde whisps playfully slid across her face as her naked body shifted underneath the sheets. Her limbs stretched as her body turned to face him. She stared with disgust at his oily hair and wide nose. Layers of neglected sweat had produded an unbearable stench due to days without a proper bath. However, that is not what caused her to draw back. She silently pursed her lips as she saw his gold wedding band glimmering in the morning sunshine. Suddenly she noticed the thick yellow veil that hung over the room, and she was reminded of the filth. She shifted to her knees and let her shoulders slump. Her head cocked to the side and the sheets fell around her, exposing her ivory skin. She thought of the beautiful people in the world that spent their Sunday afternoons at church socials or backyard barbeques. Her forehead wrinkled at the mental picture of a husband enveloping his wife in his arms as they lie in bed, relishing in the one day they can sleep in together. With her head in her hands she silently struggled to remember when life stopped being beautiful. Is love powerful enough to wipe out a past of lingering regrets? Her heart weighed heavy as the thought of her Prince Charming slowly faded. She was too impure to contain an innocent child's dream. Her body was disgraced and filthy with the unwanted kisses of countless men. She turned her head toward the window and grasped for assurance to reinstate her strength. Love is a game, a fantasy story. Love is for children and for writers and for dreamers...it is not real. There's no time for love, and it definitely does not pay the rent - after all, this is the real world. She grabbed a hair band from the side table and trapped her playful whisps in a low ponytail. She half believed her thoughts, but considered that good enough. She wiped a few lingering tears off her cheek while smearing mascara at the same time. She hurridely dressed and gathered her things, hoping that she wouldn't give herself any more time to think. She passed a streaked mirror as she glided through the room and decided to take a quick look. Her skin dropped on her face as she barely recognized the woman glaring back at her. Pulling the shirt over her head ruffled the hair around her face. Eyemakeup from the night before was smeared on various other regions of her visage. Her lips were pale and her skin felt grimy. Worst of all, she felt ugly. Turning her eyes away from the disgusting mirror, she spotted five hundred dollar bills lieing on the desk. Arranged in a fan-like shape, the bills screamed to her of the night's events. She took a last look at her lover beneath the sheets. She imagined his wife at home making French toast for their young children and reserving an extra plate for him so could share in the delight when he returned from his "business meeting". His body made a large bump in the sheets as he quietly snored. Once again, she felt dirty. She never meant it to be this way, it wasn't something she planned. Her heart was desensitized by the brutal streets. She sacrificed the most beautiful thing a woman can give the man she loves for a dingy apartment's rent and a few boxes of maccaroni and cheese. No one cares about her story now, no one wants to hear. She is a heathen, a sinner, she stains humanity. She doesn't deserve love. Love is pure and beautful. A persistant blonde whisp was dampened by a tear provoked by the brutal thought. Her eyes fell back upon the mirror and realized she is neither pure nor beautiful. Isn't love unwavering and blind, too? Does it filter through the "beautiful" people and leave the leftovers in the gutter? Love transcends to every heart open and willing enough to accept it. It never demands a prerequisite. Every moment is a chance to turn things around. Today is a step farther from the past, and a step closer to the future. Her face tightened. With renewed confidence she glided out of the room. The stained money remained untouched on the desk. Sunlight attached to her face as she swung the heavy door open. A smile forms in the corner of her mouth as she stepped into the glimmering street to face a brand new day.
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I wrote this in my "portable blog" - which is actually just a small notebook i stick in my purse. I've always had a heart for prostitution, never really understood why. I just have always believed that something mustve driven them to that state. There's a story behind everything. Theres this song called "Janie" -i think by ben folds - and its from the point of view of a man who had fallen in love with a prostitute. I think it's the most beautiful thing that a man could love someone so much to look past a mistake that they have been forced to make.
The moral of the story is.... sometimes to fully appreciate life you have to aknowledge the good, the bad, AND the ugly - and then realize that it is all beautful. EVERYTHING.
The pure morning sun illuminated the dinginess that encompassed every corner of the cheap hotel room. Her blue eyes unwillingly flinched to the new day as she struggled to remember how she ended up in this place. Blonde whisps playfully slid across her face as her naked body shifted underneath the sheets. Her limbs stretched as her body turned to face him. She stared with disgust at his oily hair and wide nose. Layers of neglected sweat had produded an unbearable stench due to days without a proper bath. However, that is not what caused her to draw back. She silently pursed her lips as she saw his gold wedding band glimmering in the morning sunshine. Suddenly she noticed the thick yellow veil that hung over the room, and she was reminded of the filth. She shifted to her knees and let her shoulders slump. Her head cocked to the side and the sheets fell around her, exposing her ivory skin. She thought of the beautiful people in the world that spent their Sunday afternoons at church socials or backyard barbeques. Her forehead wrinkled at the mental picture of a husband enveloping his wife in his arms as they lie in bed, relishing in the one day they can sleep in together. With her head in her hands she silently struggled to remember when life stopped being beautiful. Is love powerful enough to wipe out a past of lingering regrets? Her heart weighed heavy as the thought of her Prince Charming slowly faded. She was too impure to contain an innocent child's dream. Her body was disgraced and filthy with the unwanted kisses of countless men. She turned her head toward the window and grasped for assurance to reinstate her strength. Love is a game, a fantasy story. Love is for children and for writers and for dreamers...it is not real. There's no time for love, and it definitely does not pay the rent - after all, this is the real world. She grabbed a hair band from the side table and trapped her playful whisps in a low ponytail. She half believed her thoughts, but considered that good enough. She wiped a few lingering tears off her cheek while smearing mascara at the same time. She hurridely dressed and gathered her things, hoping that she wouldn't give herself any more time to think. She passed a streaked mirror as she glided through the room and decided to take a quick look. Her skin dropped on her face as she barely recognized the woman glaring back at her. Pulling the shirt over her head ruffled the hair around her face. Eyemakeup from the night before was smeared on various other regions of her visage. Her lips were pale and her skin felt grimy. Worst of all, she felt ugly. Turning her eyes away from the disgusting mirror, she spotted five hundred dollar bills lieing on the desk. Arranged in a fan-like shape, the bills screamed to her of the night's events. She took a last look at her lover beneath the sheets. She imagined his wife at home making French toast for their young children and reserving an extra plate for him so could share in the delight when he returned from his "business meeting". His body made a large bump in the sheets as he quietly snored. Once again, she felt dirty. She never meant it to be this way, it wasn't something she planned. Her heart was desensitized by the brutal streets. She sacrificed the most beautiful thing a woman can give the man she loves for a dingy apartment's rent and a few boxes of maccaroni and cheese. No one cares about her story now, no one wants to hear. She is a heathen, a sinner, she stains humanity. She doesn't deserve love. Love is pure and beautful. A persistant blonde whisp was dampened by a tear provoked by the brutal thought. Her eyes fell back upon the mirror and realized she is neither pure nor beautiful. Isn't love unwavering and blind, too? Does it filter through the "beautiful" people and leave the leftovers in the gutter? Love transcends to every heart open and willing enough to accept it. It never demands a prerequisite. Every moment is a chance to turn things around. Today is a step farther from the past, and a step closer to the future. Her face tightened. With renewed confidence she glided out of the room. The stained money remained untouched on the desk. Sunlight attached to her face as she swung the heavy door open. A smile forms in the corner of her mouth as she stepped into the glimmering street to face a brand new day.
----------
I wrote this in my "portable blog" - which is actually just a small notebook i stick in my purse. I've always had a heart for prostitution, never really understood why. I just have always believed that something mustve driven them to that state. There's a story behind everything. Theres this song called "Janie" -i think by ben folds - and its from the point of view of a man who had fallen in love with a prostitute. I think it's the most beautiful thing that a man could love someone so much to look past a mistake that they have been forced to make.
The moral of the story is.... sometimes to fully appreciate life you have to aknowledge the good, the bad, AND the ugly - and then realize that it is all beautful. EVERYTHING.
