Stacia Brown is one of my favorite writers. I was introduced to her writing through a mutual friend of ours and immediately loved how beautifully she structures words. In this post on her blog, she describes what she will tell of love to her daughter. The opening paragraph:
Fill her with wonder. Convince her that the feeling is less the flitting of butterflies and more the plumping of caterpillars: fuzz filling her insides and, at the first blush of reciprocation, it is the spinning of a chrysalis, the building of a silken borough that may open at the flutter of a first kiss or the airy bliss of barely touching hands.
This is what she needs to know of love.
It is tender missives full of youth’s hyperbole. In an amoebic form, it can begin in the sandbox. The boy who pastes his sloppy lips to the peachy round of her cheek may mean it.
He is not always a mimic.
This will be important for her to carry later. Tell her to pocket your promise:men do not always mimic.