#414 words

"So, how was your day?" Clarke's voice broke through the quiet, casual yet tinged with genuine interest. 

Lexa smiled faintly, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "The usual corporate chaos. But it's better now, hearing from you." 

There was a brief pause, and then Clarke chuckled softly. "I'm glad I can be your post-chaos solace." 

Lexa's heart fluttered at the comment, a mix of affection and curiosity swelling within her. She had been pondering over a question for weeks, one that lingered on the edges of her thoughts every time she spoke to Clarke. But hesitation held her back, a fear of overstepping boundaries they hadn't clearly defined. 

"Clarke," she began tentatively, "can I ask you something? It's... personal, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to." 

There was a moment of silence, and Lexa could almost picture Clarke raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Sure, ask away." 

Lexa took a deep breath, her heart racing. "How did you... I mean, what led you to start your escort business?" She cringed slightly at her own bluntness, worrying she might have crossed a line. 

Clarke was quiet for a moment, and Lexa braced herself for a change in the mood. But when Clarke spoke, her voice was calm, reflective. "You know, no one's really asked me that before. Not in the way you're asking, at least." 

Lexa's grip on the phone tightened, her interest piqued. She could hear Clarke taking a deep breath, as if preparing to dive into a story long kept just beneath the surface. 

"It's a long story, Lexa. But I think you deserve to know," Clarke began, her voice a blend of vulnerability and strength. "It all started a few years ago..." 

Often we feel like our lives are worthless, like we are just as small as a microbe, and just as insignificant. We feel as if we were running and running without ever taking a step forward, and our dreams seem to melt, lose their shape and their appeal the longer we long for them.

there’s a moment when he hangs in the air, weightlessly, before his hands snap out and make a perfectly practiced catch as gravity reasserts itself.

fingers flit lazily over black and white keys, carelessly tripping over notes and melodies as his body sways to the music.

her thumb toys with her fan impatiently, snap snap snapping the top slat open and closed.

she’s not aware of much else but the need to go faster in that instant, her desire to win the race burning hotter than her lungs or her legs.

it’s in a moment of quiet that he can take the time to breathe, feel the wind on his face.

knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two.

the metal knitting needle is cold under her arm. the motions of her right hand are swift and mechanical.

knit two. swap needles.

the metal knitting needle is cold under her arm.

he is caught in a state of numb disbelief, dreamlike in nature. there is no way he can be here, trapped in a gale of swordplay waiting to slice him to pieces.

as he watches, the blade cuts deeply into his upper arm, and still he does not feel the pain. of course he doesn’t. it’s a dream.

but it’s not, he realizes vaguely when he ducks away from the sword, and his arm begins to throb. it’s not, and he is going to die.

hacking is never as exciting as the movies make it out to be, she thinks dully as she scans through the code of the virus she intends to release. she pauses to mull over the necessity of a semicolon at one particular character. maybe? but untangling the semicolon would require several extra lines, so she sketches out the process by hand, determines it stable, and moves on.

CAD is convenient and smooth, of course, especially with the capacity for weightless lines, but there’s a very tactile satisfaction that comes with drafting by hand that can’t be beat: a twist of the lead holder, a dead stop, a fine control of line weights. of course, the loose freedom that comes with a thumbnail sketch is also— not quite a luxury, but similarly gratifying.

it’s freedom, he decides, freedom that can’t quite be mimicked by the computer.

I got into a new music artist and I want to tell you about him. Can I tell you about him? It doesn't matter, you're on my blog so you're going to read about him anyway.

So sometime around Monday, strive-for-it and I were sending videos to each other, one of which happened to be a snippet of some random guy with this lovely voice singing in front of a piano. So of course, I got curious, and Dev told me to go look up this Sam Smith guy singing the acoustic version of his song, "Lay Me Down". I was hooked thirteen seconds in. I fell asleep singing his praises to my Facebook timeline.

Sam Smith is this British kid, born in '92 if you can believe it, with a voice that sounds like Josh Groban and Sylvester James learned that fusion technique from Dragon Ball Z. I don't know what it is with British kids and R&B, but Sam Smith is what Blue-Eyed Soul is supposed to sound like.

This guy, Sam Smith, hits his high notes like John P. Kee and Aaron Neville; that is to say, he makes his falsettos flare out and wave like a french horn. There are so many male singers out here right now with weak falsettos, damaging their natural tenors and smooth bass voices just to fit in. It's so refreshing to hear someone who balances his natural pitch with a falsetto that doesn't break because the note's too high.

If you've heard this name before, it may be because he was featured on Disclosure's "Latch" a couple of years back. I know Sam will forever be cemented that Indie trap of genre, blue-eyed soul, simply because his current track list includes a lot of Dance, alternative pop, and one or two Neo Soul tracks. Still he has an R&B voice, so I think Sam should pioneer a Dubstep R&B subgenre. It's definitely worth a shot.

In any case, it's getting late and I've work in the morning. Please check out Sam Smith's Nirvana EP. I'm telling you it is definitely worth a listen. I have many good feelings about his forthcoming studio album, In the Lonely Hour.

Fun Fact: Sam's Wikipedia says he's Lily Allen's cousin, but hers does not. I'm not surprised though. I don't think that there's anyone in this world who would admit that their baby cousin is loads more talented than they are. I'm just saying . . .