Many prayers I have prayed to Thee in the midst Storms were heavy and burdened I became before Kneeling down in that hour to pray to come out of That storm that came to exist.

Almighty Father, I knew You were on call waiting For me to reach out in the midst of this storm I Struggled by far to overcome when I knew You Were there when I continued to resist.

But at that moment You whispered No storm is To big for Me to move...for I am with you in the Midst of all storms,always be thankful my child, In the midst.

I coloured outside the lines, when I was the age of four. Carved face on lined paper; a face that I’d adore. Blonde flecked strands, translucent blue eyes But left her soul untapped, as a virtuous surprise.

I coloured in her boots with the muddiest brown hue. She’d jump in puddles and kick dirt in her least favourite shoe. Instead of crafting daisy chains or chasing after boys, Enveloped in the pages of a book or attacking her brother with toys.

I colour inside the lines, with specks of yellow bloom. She’ll drink tea and eat cake even when she runs out of room. I see her chasing dreams to protect her fellow beings. Compassionate, impulsive and fierce; that’s the girl I’m seeing.

And though I coloured outside the lines that day, I continue to see her face: Across the road, with glowing smile, your joy I will embrace.

 Today was Friday, February 14th. Valentine’s Day. I stood on the corner of Vicarage street, staring across the street. Others passed by me, giving me strange looks. I ignored, or maybe I just didn’t notice them. I was too focused on the boy across the street. He was tall and lanky, with a slim torso. His hair was unbelievably messy and his nose curved in an abnormal way. I recognized him immediately as a memory surfaced in my mind.

 Thirteen years ago. I was ten years old, having a slumber party with my best friend, Magnolia. We were both really into art and sat across from each other, a notepad in our laps and a pencil in our hands. “What should we draw?” I had asked. Magnolia smiled at me. “I don’t know. Maybe you should draw the boy of your dreams.~” she had purred. I smiled, having been oblivious. “Okay!” I had chirped and began drawing. When I finished, I’d showed the drawing to Magnolia had had a confused look on her face. “It’s really bad.” I’d chuckled. I’d put the notepad away and we’d continued our night.

 I’d still kept that picture, though. I had no idea where that drawing was now, of course, but I know I’d kept it. Around that time, I’d had different points of views. Magnolia had thought the boy in that drawing was incredulously hideous. I had thought he was perfect. 

 Ten years later, though a few things had changed, I was still the same girl. I was the same bubbly little girl with a love for art. I was that same fun-loving girl who’d paid her mother four pennies for breaking her mother’s favorite vase when she was six. I was still that same girl who thought that the boy in that drawing was perfect.

  This boy across the street, in the scraggly white t-shirt, leaning against the light pole and staring down at his phone. This was him. I don’t know how or why it was so, but he had become a person. I felt my heartbeat quicken as I looked at him. I don’t know if it was from fear or surprise, simply because of his existence, or happiness. He didn’t know who I was, or maybe he did. Maybe he wasn’t the actual drawing of the boy and this was a coincidence, or maybe it wasn’t. There were many possibilities and many outcomes of this moment, but I knew one thing. 

 Fate had brought me here. Fate put me on the corner of this street, staring in awe at some strange-looking boy across the street from me, and earning weird looks from others around me. Others, except him. I felt so many things in this moment; surprise, awe, excitement, love.

 Then, the boy looked up and around. He stopped when he saw me. Our eyes met and as I stared into his sky blue eyes, he smiled. 

 This was the beginning. The beginning of something beautiful.

When you were a child, you drew a picture of your dream partner. Twenty years later, you are walking down the street and see someone who is an exact replica of what you drew. Unfortunately, you were a terrible artist back them. I was on Orangewood and Lewis Street when destiny hit me. There in front of me stood the man I drew once upon a dream when I was a child. But I live in the real world now and I no longer believe the bullshit fairytale stories my parents fed me as a child. I look up and see a man with dark hair, brown eyes, tall with a muscular build and wonder what lies deep within his heart. In my head I can hear the song playing of once upon a dream....I stop and start laughing hysterically as I find that completely hilarious. The song switches in my head to the Halloween movie sound track now that is more like real life. Fuck the bullshit life is not a fantasy and why we feed our children such stories is beyond me. Reality is life is hard and no perfect man is going to sweep you off your feet. We all are flawed. We grow up and the shit gets real. I was in love with a guy. Things were good. He would send me cute little notes and leave me little gifts in my car. We would laugh together and I could tell him anything. We were in love so I thought. We had a beautiful daughter together, but reality was you can't control someone else so he left. As a mother I so dearly wanted him to be a part of his daughters life as I didn't have my father present in my life. I did not want a repeat cycle, but I came to realize that I had to do the best I could. I had to make a stable life for me and my child as I could not rely on the man who fathered her. My heart ached for her as I want more for my little girl. I want her to have a family. Reality is you meet a man he to comes from somewhere . You do not know his background. Where he comes from or what his life experiences that has shaped him are. It takes time to really get to know someone. Getting to know them is like peeling an onion. You slowly peel each layer by layer to build trust and build honesty. Relationships are hard and as you peel that onion it may cause you to tear up, because reality is the other person does not always act in the way you expected in your mind. I know sad right! Such is life. There are no guarantees and life is really a freaking roller coaster. Make yourself happy and be secure with you. Perfection is fiction end of story. Beam me up Scotty!!!

well, today i saw the exact replica of my childhood crush that i drew when i was 7. his body is very long and square. he has stick arms and legs, and his head is very uneven. he had really spikey hair that looks really crazy. he has no pupils and no ears and nose or fingers or toes. he looks a lot worse now than he did when i was 7, but what you see is what you get

What by the ever-loving Bast is that?? I stop mid-stride and stare, dropping my $7 coffee. Is a furry? With an mechanical tail? A memory springs to mind, from years ago.

We were in class. My idiot teacher, Mrs. Shankspoodle, wanted us to draw our future spouse. What seven year old knows what they want in a mate, let alone what a spouse was? Being the snarky lil ass that I was back then, I drew an anthropomorphic cat (well, bad drawing of a roughly humanoid figure with cat ears and a tail.) She stared at the picture, stared at me, and said something unintelligible before sending me out of the room. There was a parents meeting, yelling, and anyway, I was homeschooled after that.

But this figure before me. It was my drawing!! Not two dimensional, and a little more put together, but yes, an roughly humanoid cat person. Okay, what do I do now? Oh shit, he see me, and is walking closer. No where to run.

“Hello, Tara. I have been waiting for you,” he speaks, and with an Irish accent. “Who are you?” I inquire.

“Mr Whisker McMeowMeow,” he relies. Oh, yes, I did name that drawing. “Are you messing with me?” I ask.

“No, I was sent to you. I am your ideal mate. Let us whisk away to somewhere more...enticing.” With that statement, he flicked his tail, and I swear I heard purring.

“Umm, well, you see. I don’t mean to be rude, but how the hell do you exist? I drew you twenty years ago!”

“Yes, in Madame Shankspoodle’s class. You were far too young then for me, so the spell she casted was on a timeline. You obviously didn’t think she’s set up seven year olds?!”

“She was a witch? How did I miss that? Did she bring all the drawings to life?” This was freaking me out, to say the least. And my teacher, a witch? I knew I should have stayed in that class, damn my parents. What I could have learned...

“No, of course not. Everyone else drew normal picture and weren’t little shits. Madame was a powerful spell caster, but she hated snarky little kids. You should have done the assignment properly.”

“But then you wouldn’t be here,” I pointed out. He hadn’t considered this, it was obvious. “So, what do we do know?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“Anything you want, I was created for you,” Mr Whisker replied, though I could tell he was started to question his own reality.

“Um. If I ask you to leave, you will?” I may have an out of this madness!! But no, it was not to be. Damn him. Damn Mr. Whisker McMeowMeow. He did it. He pulled the Puss-in-Boots cute ass cat look. There was no escape.

“Fine, you can stay. For now. No funny business, keep your paws to yourself. Let’s get coffee. And then beer. Lot of beer.”

“Lovely,” said he, clearly recovering from the sad cat look. “I’ll take my coffee with extra cream.”

Of course he will. I need to find Madame Shankspoodle. And learn some curses as well. And a vet?