Infinite

On Friday morning, she decided to play a game with herself. She took the dying rose from chapel the day before out of the glass of water in the kitchen it was residing in. Then, she walked out on the front porch and sat on one of the dirty green chairs. "He'll ask me to homecoming," she whispered, smirking to herself, while pulling off a drooping yellow petal, "He won't. He will. He won't." The thing that scared her the most was that after pulling the mass amount of rose petals off, she landed on "He will." Then, taking the lovely yellowness in her hands, she ran out into the yard and threw the petals up over herself laughing and dancing under the canopy of rose to the joy of her life. And she felt infinite and he never asked her to homecoming.

The day before when she received the rose in chapel, she smiled and looking at it, she vaguely remembered a quote that said something about looking at a rose truly for a moment and finding that in that moment, it is your world. She didn't know who said it, but she felt found---for just that moment. And in that moment, she felt infinite.

Then on Saturday, she felt a little infinite while shaving her legs. She thought she looked like she was from the '30s. Her black dress had 3 little buttons and she had a headband with a giant black rose. After she applied black eyeliner she didn't feel like she was from the '30s, but she reminded herself to just go with it. And then, she arrived at the door, paid $10 and was ready to endure 3 and 1/2 hours of blah that could possibly pass as fun. And he danced with her and she smiled and made a stupid face the whole time. And she felt infinite.

And then, on Sunday morning, she decided to take the time to write about it. And she smiled and remembered feeling infinite.