Running

They were running into nothingness, running into air,

Running into emptiness, running into despair.

Happily, merrily, All Night Long.

Fog surrounded them, but they cared not,

Running, running along in a nice little trot.

Happily, merrily, all night strong.

Happiness, sadness, and all between was what they felt,

But running was they way that helped it all be dealt.

Happily, merrily, into the nights throng.

A run, a prance, a funny little dance,

Made them forget all of life’s can’ts.

Happily, merrily, to the night’s sing-along.

We all go through life, running at our own pace,

Life’s about beauty, love and laughter;

But for some, they think life’s all a race,

And then life flee’s, it becomes all a blur.

And then we all run along,

And together, we are all strong.

Something fantastical I wrote...

The following is not about me, or anything in real life, the following is the beginning of a story I have written. I will admit, I'm not the best writer, but I tried my hardest. They say you can tell a lot about a person from the way the write, and what they write about. If that's true, now you know everything there is to know about me. :]



The young girl lays underneath the lacy sea on top her bed.

MOTHER: She comes in and smiles as sits next to the sleepy child. “Hello sleepy head. Sorry for coming home late.”

THE CHILD: She looks up as beautiful butterfly’s come to carry her to the dream world. “It’s okay mom. It really is. I love you.”

MOTHER: Caresses the drifting girls chin. ”Gute Nacht, I love you too.” She bends to kiss the drifting child’s forehead.

CHILD: Wakes up in a beautiful meadow. Butterfly’s come to kiss the end of her nose, and tulips sing her a tune when the wind blows on their delicate petals. As the girl looks at the beautiful scenery, going as far as the eye can see, the wind blows through her hair lightly as to not disturb her thoughts. As she turns around slowly, she catches sight of a lightshow that quickly comes toward her. As the lights quickly fly around her in a circle, she turns around and around following the start. Suddenly it flies off and she runs after it, down the steep hill she stood upon. Losing her footing, the girl slides down the steep hill; dirt cakes her clothing, and twigs scratch at her flesh. Red droplets fall from her wounds. Suddenly she feels a pair of strong arms catch her from falling to her doom. She looks up to see the lights forming a person. Startled, she tries to run from the figure appearing before her. “Go away! Leave me alone!” She looks back to see the lights have turned into a boy.

THE BOY: He appears in front of her and catches her before she falls again. “Let me take you down.” He puts her on his back and jumps into the air, floating to the bottom of the hill.

CHILD: She holds on for dear life until she feels him touch solid ground. She jumps off. “Who are you? What are you? Why won’t you leave me alone?” She goes to pick some tulips far out of the sight of the boy.

BOY: All alone he starts to wonder if he scared her. He walks towards where she is looking for answers. He finds her picking tulips next to a fountain. “Did I scare you? If I did I’m sorry.”

CHILD: “Please, leave me alone.” She looks up to see a 15 year old boy. He bends down slightly and she can see his every detail from his long brown hair, to his chocolate brown eyes. His lips were pink, the lightest shade of pink you could find on a person, and his fingers were long and elegant. She looked up at his towering figure. He was tanned and obviously smart. She looked at his hand and saw a scar above his thumb and pointer finger. She reached out to touch it. “How did that happen?”

BOY: He puts his hand in his pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stares at her looking deep into her soul.

CHILD: She shutters. “My name is Sweetie Love. What’s yours?”

BOY: He looks at her in surprise. “My… my name is Eric Rockston.” Then he bends down and caresses her chin before kissing her lips ever so lightly.

SWEETIE: She wakes up and runs throughout the house looking for the boy, but she could not find him. She hears her mother coming.

MOTHER: “What’s wrong?” She walks into the room rubbing her eyes. “You’re 12; you need to be in bed.”

SWEETIE: “I know mother.” She takes one last look around the room as if he’d magically appear before heading back to bed. Laying there she thought, ‘I wonder where that boy is, or if he exists. He looked to be 15.’ She stared into the darkness, tangled in the sea of lace, until she slowly drifted back into a peaceful sleep, wanting the boy to be there when she arrived in the dream land.


Ending my love letter,
Dame Snow