roseofporcelain

“What the hell?” Wedged into Sarah’s copy of Romeo and Juliet was an envelope with Sarah's name scrawled on the front. Sarah was about to practice her audition lines for this year’s school play. The letter was short, but to the point: “Sarah, I have a crush on you. You probably haven’t noticed me. After all, I’m new, and a year below you. At any case, I’m auditioning for Romeo and Juliet, so I’ll see you then.” And it was unsigned. Sarah frowned. She had no idea who this person could be, but she’d been made fun of by the kids in her high school before in similar ways. She was

The lights reminded Sarah of the glory of the ball that had lain within a single dreaming bubble, where she had danced with Jareth. She lay in her bed, listening to the wind gusting. From somewhere, a barn owl hooted, while her own tiny Christmas tree winked at her in the darkness. The hooting of the owl went on, and the wind gusted harder. Suddenly, the casements blew open and Sarah jerked to her feet. Snow billowed into her room through the balcony doors. She began to brush the snow off the sill, feeling as she did so something cold and hard beneath her palm. A diamond ring glittered like ice. It numbed her skin, as though it had remained

The workplace is shattering. I'm shifting. looking elsewhere. Monotony, that the hard carry to it. When my gaze falls on the workplace, I feel afraid. restlessness to sicken my mind's way. I have neither time nor remember resistance I am dead. Shoved that wanted future, down with a spark long ago. If I make to remember, and I move to have, I long sicken elsewhere. Given point-blank, am I not asleep? Little that I've drawn, How my gaze will obsess. Come back, the others are asleep this year. Spark is at flame. But I really don't seemingly mind the future, and am looking to it. Everything this year will go the hardest and wouldn't I give an

In the library, the collection from her travels. Gradually moving into summer alone, he beside jam and cream. His correspondence with her benefactor, would do well, several languages, allowing her to expand Bleached years ago, in the attic. Next to him a pot of tea. Her benefactor had a love of good things, reminded him of that place and time. He sprinkled over the still water, watching ripples. The old room glowed with a touch of heat. The surface was covered with roses peeling, handful after handful of his wounded heart. Josette had soon given way to poetry, and that, lustily, so that he scarcely experienced other. Searching, craving, Jo

Around me many crystals are floating,        faces shining in the darkness.        I am a wave silvered by moonlight. Voices rise on the wind,        crying in the darkness.        My life formed by my shadow constructs. Knowing my power, I cast forward        a net to loosely gather the elements        coded by my desires. Knowing my power, I cast forward,        I am drifting with bracken, but looking overhead        I am drawing lines between the stars.