wwA conversation is an interesting thing. Sometimes, it's the most meaningful thing to somebody, like a last conversation with somebody- one that you will remember, word for word for the rest of your life. Other times, it's just an idle conversation, one you could live without. A conversation may consist of it being the most important thing to one person, but absolutely nothing to the other. Remember, next time you engage in a seemingly pointless conversation with somebody, it could mean something completely different to them.

You know that couple, sitting there by the coffee shop? Three years ago, they sat in those very seats as nothing more than strangers, making idle conversation. Yet here they are, those three long years later, rings on their fingers. Conversations can mean absolutely nothing to you now may mean the world to you a second, a minute, a month, a year later.

Words make up conversations; sometimes just a hundred, other times hundreds of thousands of words. Words are one of the most powerful things; whoever said, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," was an idiot. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but that's physical, and physical wounds heal. Mental wounds stay longer- much longer than a broken bone will.

Do you believe in love at first sight? That two people are just somehow meant to be, aligned by fate, destiny, or some outside force? No matter where they met, no words needed, they are connected irreversibly, and you know in the end there is always a happy ending like in the movie.

Or do you think that there's no such thing as live at first sight, only simple and petty infactuation? Do you think that words and conversations are necessary to create a real relationship? That nothing is like the movies- life isn't as perfect as the movies, with handsome princes and happily-ever-afters? Are the real relationships the ones built on emerging love, sturdy and steady, or ones that are volatile, unsteady, built only on lust?

Have you ever been completely, irreversibly, head-over-heels in love with somebody?

CPOV

I woke up, cursing Mondays and alarm clocks, my eyes still heavy with sleep. My sketchbook lay on one side of my bed, the page open to a half-finished piece I had started last night. Art, in some ways, was my savior from anorexia. Anorexia for me hadn't been a consious decision- subconsiously, I had started eating less and less until I was living on practically nothing.

It had set me free, from all the people who called me fat because I wasn't them- skinny girls with enough confidence to wear almost nothing. I was just me; I was just Clary, the artist geek who wore ratty jeans and old shirts.

But anorexia had also been my prison; the fact that I'd been weak enough to succumb to social pressure, or that anything over a hundred calories had become my nemesis. Coffee, black and strong, had become my sole source of energy; the only reason I was still functioning during that time period. The aftermath had been that I was treated like a small child- micromanaged to the smallest detail, as if I couldn't be trusted with anything. There was some truth in this, I supposed, but for me, as a fairly independent person, it had been difficult. Isabelle had been my sole confident, my stronghold and support system.

Isabelle, who was currently sprawled across her bed, somehow managing to look beautiful even with a bedhead. She had a sort of effortless, flawless beauty that most girls envied- unlike the girls who were beautiful in an overmakeuped way.

I envied her, too, the way boys looked at her, her confidence- there was a brain behind that beauty. Isabelle was pursuing an MBA; her dream was to become a fashion designer, but she wanted to become sucessful on her own. If there was one flaw on such a flawless person, it would be the fact that she had hubris- she thought she could do everything on her own. She was afraid to show vurnerability- all she wanted to show people was the confident, sexy side of her.

Pulling on jeans and a shirt, and applying just enough makeup so that Isabelle wouldn't complain, I slipped out the door for my morning ritual of coffee at Starbucks while talking to Alec. When the cold air greeted me, I shivered in reply. Even in the early morning, New York was alive. The honking of cars and cabs, shops turning on their lights, ready for the day- this was a constant I almost needed in my life. It had been vibrant even when my life hadn't been, and the noise had become a comfort.

Approaching Starbucks, I opened the door, breathing in the smell of fresh brewed coffee and just-baked pastries. The bell on the door chimed gaily, and I smiled, waiting for Alec to show up with a cup of coffee in hand. When he didn't show up, I blinked, surprised.

"Alec?"

Nothing happened. And then suddenly, the door for the back room swung open, and I smiled, ready to greet Alec. It was him though, and I took in a breath, shocked. Instead of Alec, a golden beauty- an angel in the form of a man stood in front of me.

"Hi," I said, my voice timid. "Jace, right?"

"Don't pretend you don't know who I am," he snapped. "I heard Alec telling you about me."

"Okay, since I know who you are, why don't I introduce myself?"

"I know who you are. You're Alec's girlfriend," he replied, his voice caked with either bitterness or jealously, I couldn't tell.

"So you don't know anything about me. I'm Clary, and I'm just a friend of his. Where is Alec, anyways?"

"He's covered enough of my shifts. I figured I'd cover some of his," he shrugged.

"Oh," I said awkwardly. "So can I get some coffee?"

"What do you want?"

"Black," I replied, almost instinctually.

He chuckled. "That must be a hell of a hangover, Princess."

"I'm not hungover," I said defensively. "I just like black coffee." He just smirked at me in a way that both infuriated me and made me blush. A couple seconds later, he passed a cup of coffee- strong, black, and without sugar, just the way I liked it.

"Why were you looking for Alec, anyways?"

"It's just something we do every morning- I get coffee and we talk," I shrugged.

"Well then, I owe you a conversation."

"Nah, I'm good," I said, heading towards a seat by the window.

"I insist," he replied, "If that's part of Alec's shift, I'll take it."

I rolled my eyes at him, taking out my sketchbook as he approached me, sitting in the chair across from mine. He glanced over, a peculiar expression crossing his face. "It's not my best..." I said uncertainly.

"Damn, you can draw, Princess," he managed to say after a short period of silence. "Like, that's real talent right there, I'm telling you. Someday you're gonna be the next Picasso or one of those famous artists."

"You don't know any more famous artists, do you? But thanks. I think."

"I do know more artists," he protested lamely, and then giving in when I shot him a look. "Okay, so I don't. But I bet I know piano artists then you do," and I nodded my head, conceeding. Alec had told me that he was a student at Julliard for piano. I wondered how such a brilliant pianist- you obviously had to be good to go to Julliard- was low enough to become an alcoholic. "Mind if I have a look at your sketchbook?"

I didn't know what to say to that. My sketchbook, my art- it was the equivalent of a diary to somebody else. It held all my emotions, fears, loves, but mostly it told the story of me. The story of Clary Fray, filled with rainbows, silhouettes, and the in-betweens. It was something I guarded, naturally, because I wasn't confident- I was shy, and always self-consious about what other people thought. My overall personality was guarded, cautious to people I didn't know. Being my friend or somebody I trusted was like somehow finding a way to climb over the high towers of a castle, and then making your way through an alligator-filled moat. It was risky, and death was pretty common, but if you made it to the Golden City, the rewards were great.

Jace plucked the sketchbook out of my hands, and held it over his head which made my efforts completely useless, because he was at least seven inches than me. Despite my pleas, he started going through my drawings, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction. Imagine some kid you don't even know going through your whole phone, checking your texts, emails, and Facebook and whatnot. To me this was ten times worse, because that sketchbook was my whole life. I opened my eyes, hoping he was done, and I saw him dangling my sketchbook, the page open to my most recent sketch.

"Drawing me, now are you? I know I'm gorgeous, but really? I don't even know you that well."

"It's not even you, asshat. Believe me when I tell you that you're not the best-looking person this Earth has to offer."

As much as I denied it, I could see the resemblance- the features, a toned body, but I resented the fact that he felt like he could flaunt it. Late at night, I had begun drawing somebody- I didn't know who, just that I was drawing whoever it was from a memory I couldn't remember.

"Asshat? Who the hell says that, anyways?"

"I do, thank you very much," I snapped, grabbing my sketchbook and heading for the door.

"Hey, Princess, temper much?" He mocked me. This was the last straw for me, and I turned back, picking up my cup- still half-filled with hot coffee, mind you- and flung the contents onto him. I was actually aiming for his face, but since he was so tall, it ended up hitting somewhere on his chest. He looked up, shocked and I smirked at him.

"That hurt," he protested, eyes narrowed accusingly at me. I shrugged, smirking, and somehow despite the pain, he managed a laugh.

"Man, I spend fifteen minutes with you, and this happens. Imagine what would happen if I spent an hour with you!"

In the short amount of time I had gotten to know Jace, I had learned he always had a sarcastic reply at the tip of tongue. The way he acted, I knew that girls fell for him, and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he would lead them on, and break their hearts. Him and Izzy, they were like a pair- except that Izzy had learned to love, slowly, slowly. I wondered if Jace was the some way- did somebody break his heart a long time ago, hardening it? Or was he just like me, guarded to people he didn't know, afraid to trust society. Maybe drinking was his way of tuning out the world, setting him free. Just like me, maybe it was his prison, too.

"Well, I have to go, Jace. See you around, maybe."

"Bye, Princess. Hopefully the next time I see you, I won't end up with a burn," he replied, heading into the back room, probably to get some ice.

I headed out the door, heading towards the School of Visual Arts- where I went to college. I headed back, into studios filled with the scent of fresh paint and wet canvases, and into the world of familiarity.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry, long time no chapter. I've been really busy, and plus I realized just how addicted I am to Tumblr. But Nutcracker is over, so hopefully I'll have more time now. Sorry if the flow is kind of awkward, but I figured I'd post it, and I'll try to fix that soon!

Thanks for sticking around- I'm really grateful for all the follows, favorites, and reviews :D

BTW, I don't own TMI or related characters in any shape, way, or form :).