News: My thoughts are clouds I cannot fathom into pastries.

--1 June 2018--

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

August 9, 2012

Goodnight & Go (short clip)

This morning I was watering the garden and listening to a bit of Imogen Heap. One song in particular (which I call her "creeper" song) caught my attention and reminded me of an image I had seen earlier (I put it below). A wee bit of a yarn spun in my mind. It's terribly cheesy and, in my opinion, poorly written. But hey, we all have those days where we churn out a bit of junk. So this is a bit of poor cheesy writing for you to read. The song I wrote to is also included.

(note: I'm guessing it's poorly done because I had to rush since we're supposed to leave today to go on epic travelling adventures...and I was quite pushed for time. Even now I rush to put this down so I can return and conclude my cleaning adventure :/ lol)



Goodnight & Go

Ivy let a small grin touch the sides of her lips. She sighed and flopped back on her bed, bouncing several times as she exhaled fully and let her cobalt eyes graze the ceiling. Pieces of paper slid off her bed and floated to the ground, covered with the musings of her mind.
Imogen Heap’s tremulous voice soaked through the walls, spreading itself through her brain.
Say goodnight and go. Woah woah. Woah woah.
“And I just sit here and listen to this stuff. Hah!” Ivy blew a tendril of hair off her face and shook her head, causing her feather pillow to rustle. She quickly popped back up into sitting position and pressed the eraser of her pencil to her lip. Her eyes flicked down to the pages she’d finished filling.
“Filling with silly little thoughts. Oh what would Andrea say.” Her eyes fluttered a moment as a healthy blush rose to her cheeks, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the high-collar of the oversized wool sweater she wore. She always picked sweaters several sized too big to wear at home. It made her feel secure. Like a polar bear cuddled up in snow, melting into its environment like a soldier in camouflage.
Nibbling the end of the pencil, she picked up one of the rumpled pages that had fallen to the floor and read it over,

So it’s something like this. It’s something like that. Oh dear I can’t even explain it. I’m so invisible. Ok. Let’s start with something simple.
Every single evening, I walk down that path that leads to the sea; the one with the red bushes and beautiful gardens tended by grandmas and grandpas that spend their afternoons baking apple pies and spoiling children. The one where my dreams run free with the wind and I’m permitted to imagine anything I could possibly want to imagine.
That path has lead me to write many stories – stories about dragons and princesses and secret tunnels and magical flames; tales of princes and wars and tribulations. It’s the best place ever. Until it was invaded by you.
You. It’s such a simplistic, ordinary…even general term. It’s used every single day by millions of people in reference to others. And yet every time I hear that word, every time I write it, I only see you. Your face. Your eyes smiling back at me.
Gosh, I hardly know you personally; from a distance, though, it’s a different story. You sit in the middle of the lecture halls with your friends, your laugh carries light years across to my ears. You walk with a bit of a limp. Were you fighting robbers or pirates? Did you have an accident? A massive car wreck? Maybe a skiing accident? I don’t know.
When you smile, your whole face lights up, and your eyes crinkle like folded paper. Your hair is ethereal. I’m sure every guy wants to copy you. You’re so perfect.
Of course, you’re terribly popular. Always surrounded by your friends and acquaintances. You’re always going somewhere, doing something. I’m pretty sure you’ve never noticed me at all. I’m so quiet. I don’t even know anyone in our classes. Well, ok I know a few people but it’s not like I have a whole group to be part of. I just kind of wisp my way from class to class. I’m a little ghost. A little bit of cellophane. I’m invisible. And that’s kind of how I like it.
That’s why I was so shocked. You saw me on the beach, smiling at the sun and throwing sand dollars back to the ocean surf. You said hello. You knew my name. How? I’ve never even been face-to-face with you. Why do you know me? Why did you approach me? Why?
And why do you have to be so cute? I can’t even breathe. I’m sure I made a complete fool of myself, stumbling like a drunken sailor over my words. It’s like I’m a ship lost at sea…

 Ivy rolled her eyes and tapped the pencil against her chin, “Way too cheesy, Fred.” She glanced over at her re-stuffed teddy bear with the patched eye and lop-sided grin.
“What would momma say? Oh I know, I’m losing my mind. One day I’ll wake up and I’ll find myself living underwater with the mer-folk and there’ll be a sea horse outside my door waiting to take me galloping over kelp farms. Haha!”
Ivy reached over and picked up Fred, placing him between her crossed legs. She stared down at her favourite childhood stuffy and then cuddled him close, breathing in the faint scent of detergent.
Exhaling, she slid her legs over the side of the bed and shoved aside her worn journal and its loose pages.
“Let’s get some tea. Tea always helps when you’ve got silly thoughts prancing around.”
With that, Ivy left the room as the last few chords of Imogen Heap faded into oblivion.  


Signed with a pennywhistle note,



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