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LETTERS TO NO ONE: CH. 1 (YEAR 5)

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i love everything about you. i love you from head to toe. i love everything about you. your hair is as smooth as silk and red like blood. your mind is so deep. your eyes twinkle like stars. your freckles are cute and your nose equally so. your mouth is leaking like cherries. your smile is as bright as the sun. your skin is like velvet and you smell the flowers. your waist is narrow. and your legs are like beautiful steeples, that makes me want to dance away with you.



but life is keeping us apart. it is, therefore, my beloved, we can never be. you are too beautiful for me. you deserve someone better than me. that is why i must leave you, you and this world. because if i can not live with you, i don't want to live at all.



i love everything about you, my love, my rose. farewell, you beautiful goddess. we'll meet in heaven...




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But he knows...

There in the disconnected world of words and keyboards she sits. She is typing furiously, like a woman possessed. She wants more. More words, more knowledge, more information. She knows that he knows. He always knows. He knows every last bit of information that she wants... but he'll never tell it. No, he'll make her think for herself. She doesn't want to think. She wants answers, quick, easy answers that are quantifiable and clear. Answers that can be proven with research and study.She has never been good with emotion, even though it rules her. Her emotions are too strong, too real, too close to the heart of her. They could destroy her in an instant.

Why does the world have to be so complicated, she wonders. Why can't everyone just play their cards out on the table? Is there anything to loose, really, if we're all playing with everything we've got?

But no, he will not tell her, though he knows. He is the priest in the confessional, knowing the secrets of the darkest hearts and bound only to hear and give repentance. He is a friend. A strange and awkward companion at times, one who doesn't fit her usual mold, but still a friend. It's a partnership based on mutual respect and some sort of trust that neither of them are used to giving. It's a good thing. She finds herself glad for it.

They can talk, for hours, about nothing and everything. They agree and disagree. They say so many things. In then end it's time to retire, sleep for him and more stories for her. The chirp of the instant message halts and she is left dreaming of her leading man, who's hand she cannot go without wanting to hold. A dream, a dream that someday he'll take down his walls and tell her what he's really thinking. Really feeling. It has only been twenty four hours since she thought of him last, thought of their night sharing laughter and sweetness on the midst of Halloween revelry. Ah, but he has a pull on our Heroine. Something about him. She tells him this all the time, "there's just something about you" and he smiles. He likes it.

The Priest said to her he was listening to their song again, shared it with the Priest upon his arrival. He let it slip that he looked lonely, for her. Missed her. She doesn't dare hope to believe it, but what if... just what if it was true? What if she wasn't the only one missing that warm, sweet feeling they shared? She misses our Leas Male. We will not call him Hero yet, for he is not. Who knows who he will turn out to be. For now she will only lie abed and dream...

Tomorrow is another day.






What if I had a story?

She wakes in the night, our heroine. The silence is deafening. Something... something is not right, something is missing. She reaches out to find empty space. Her queen sized bed, too large, too empty. That's right. She's alone. This is not an awaiting throne. It is an empty hall of great proportions. A place where revelry should be. Where is he? Who? Why, our hero of course.

Who will he be, in the end? She imagines. Superman to her Lois Lane? Or the Sultan to her Scheherazade? Perhaps the Hamlet to her Ophelia. Even now she fears she is sinking into madness.

A glance at her clock. 1:38 AM is it's reading. Too late to be acceptable, too early to be normal. What has woken her? She does not dream, at least none that she can ever remember, so it cannot be that. She forces a shaking hand through tangled strands of heat straightened hair. It brings back the night just passed, before it turned sour. She remembers. They walk, hand in hand. A hundred other people pass in a hurry, children dressed in frocks of every imaginable type, a storm trooper, a handful of Spidermen, there are so many bodies, voices, but they are all meaningless compared to their hands pressed together and their own laughter. They are full of happiness. She wishes her siblings were there, beautiful children all under the age of eight that she loves so dearly. The night is good. It's lit by a thousand tiny lights, the kind that littler houses at Christmas, gaudy and bright and special. Tonight they are added to the candlelit pumpkins and tiny spot lights. They give off orange and yellow glows and the world looks magical. They sparkle off the water of a pond and dance on their skin as they try their best to make out the forms of flamingos, heads tucked beneath shadowy pink wings.
He smiles, she is fretting, worried about his health. He assures her that it's fine, he doesn't mind, no she's not keeping him out too late, he's not cold, everything is good. Ever the gentleman. He doesn't even mind that they are spending their Halloween night in a zoo packed with families. He mentions the song they've fallen in love with, he's listened to it a dozen times that day, or more. He is always making her laugh. She will not wander any further down the path of the night's memories. She will not think of when it began to go viciously wrong. When the phone wouldn't stop ringing until she answered. No, she will stop here, where the image of the two of them, fingers interlaced in the shimming low light.

From time itself she snatches these things, the memories she wants to keep. She cannot sleep. Sitting on her too large, too empty bed she spends the wee hours typing them into her blog, posting them to the internet where they will remain, crystallized and pure until the end of technology. Will he be her hero? She does not know yet. She can't wait to find out...

If I had a story to tell, would you listen?





TAI theme

So today I snagged the TAI mood theme from millionheir! I cannot give enough thanks for making this! I love love love love love it! Today has been a very TAI filled day, since I also just found out it looks like I'm going to get to see them in Concord on the 30th! YAY!'

Off to make some icons and make Amaranth's Shannon gif!

Writer's Block

How would you describe the face whitaker is making in his userpic?

Ermmmmm something between confusion and frustration?