Pumpkin Spice Latte = Love.
The windows to the soul are not the eyes. They are the sometimes-indistinguishable minute words scribbled down on small scraps of paper and mailed to friends who live in different states, different countries. You don’t have to look for my soul; I’ll show it to you if you want to see it.
Writing letters is soothing; sharing your heart is a little nerve-racking, being loved is the best feeling ever, loving others feels even better than being loved.
My sister baked me a pumpkin pie and dropped it by the house when she visited last weekend. It made me smile. She really wanted to buy Coolwhip. I didn’t. (Coolwhip is really only good with strawberries.) The pie ended up going bad because we forgot to refrigerate it for 3 days. Oops. But that didn’t even really matter, the fact she made it just for me was enough.
There is a couple sitting across from me in the coffee shop. They aren’t talking. There is no need. They are simply sitting. His leg is on her lap; her hand is in his. They are perfectly content with being. That’s what I’m looking for. I’m not looking for anything unrealistic, over-romantic, or unobtainable. I want the sugar in the raw- it doesn’t look fancy, it isn’t refined, but it is better for you than the pretty looking stuff. It’s raw, it’s real, but still tastes great.
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