the blades on the fan are turning. slowly, but still, they turn. and for some reason i'll never quite understand, this insignificant fact of the right-here and the right-now, something as stupid as a ceiling fan that refuses to stop, makes her smile.

and i pause to think, maybe i could learn from this. because she's the kind of girl who laughs at silence, who digs the heels of her palms into her eyes while she listens to spoken word - it helps her feel it, she says; she's the kind of girl who still avoids sidewalk cracks and always ends up with about fifty boxes of girl scout cookies because she doesn't have the heart to tell the little girls 'no'.

she's the kind of girl i could probably love, if only i knew how to.

and again, i pause to think.

maybe that's my first lesson.