“if only you could see”
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
May 2010
June 2010
September 2010
October 2010
January 2011
March 2011
April 2011
May 2011
August 2011
August 2012
September 2012
October 2012
November 2012
August 2013
November 2013
December 2013
January 2014
June 2014
July 2014
August 2014
May 2015
May 2016
June 2016
July 2016
December 2016
June 2017
July 2017
June 2018
November 2020
December 2020
April 2021
November 2021
You're killin' me...
After fighting with my old blog and the template changing of this new one, I finally got it to work, and got to put the template I wanted. ((:
In a creative writing class that I'm taking, we journal just about every day. Yesterday was a day I wrote something I particularly liked...
My fingers caressed the ivorykeys. From above, the crystal chandelier caught billions of streams of light. And as the light waves bent in the many prisms, spots of multi-colored light were cast on the bare walls. This room was my room, a lonely little piece hidden away in the expansed of this house. The chandelier was the only friend of my grand piano.
There were no chairs save for the piano seat. There were no paintings hung on the wall, no exquisite vases to give the room a flavor. Often times, I came in here not to be alone, but to be loved.
Pressing all the right keys meant that the piano would sing for me a glorious tune. Pulling back the curtains meant I fed the chandelier and in turn, the chandelier told me a story full of color, full of life. As a child, I had no patience for such things. I never thought being alone could be satisfying. I always tried to get the attention of those around me an sometimes it would work. When people wouldn't listen, I would go ouside to tell the flowers about the adventures of my day. But too soon would the flowers die, and I would soon accept the concept of being alone.
Labels: fiction junction
