Born on a mountaintop in Tennessee...
Senior Rafting Trip is tommorrow.... er today. Later.
This is gonna be mint.
I just wish I knew some good campfire songs. But I've got a book of ghost stories.
I would not trade this summer for anything. It hasn't been an especially "fun" or "exciting" summer, but the mental growth I've experienced in myself has been... well there's no other word for it: enlightening. I am full of sunny days and fervent grassy knolls. I love people, but do not require love in return. I am just happy being here. Now. The present is bright and the future is like looking to the sun. All my uncertainties are gone; I'll sort it out when I get there. No worries. Mate. Ahaha.
ooo... lights
I.... wow... I want to share this feeling.
I just read what I wrote and I seem like I'm on drugs. I assure myself I am not.
Dag, Martha the world is a freakin' filled box.
Not an empty box to be seen!
One of my favorite words is 'ethereal'. It sounds mystic, like the word itself understands what it means. Like it could, if it chose, pop up and slap me every time I use it incorrectly. It's a word that tames creatures, commands wizards, and tames nature and magic as playthings. A word of mist covered hills in anxious preparation for a shattering battle that will determine the rest of time, the remainder of days.
Hehe, they DO care, even if they say they don't.
Dag is the word of the year.
>::<
The red-hot steel made a hissing sound as it touched the cool water. Steam rose into a worn leathery face. This unshaven face was a field of scars and memories. Years of sun and weathering burned these marks in permanently, forever reminding it's owner of past transgressions and sins. He believed he deserved them. And perhaps he did. The steam condensed on his chiseled features and fell drip-drip into the cooling basin below. The steel blade had returned to its natural cold silver appearance, and was ready for polishing.
Funny, thought the weaponsmith, that I should make such tools of war.
The blade was perfectly smooth, polished to reflective perfection. His reflection startled him, as it always did. Such an old, hard face. Many years of evil had done this. So many years...
He slowly carved the runes of the ancient, unspoken tongue into the mirror-like surface of the blade. These runes were now forbidden, but this blade was not intended to keep or defend the law.
matte-sa-neka-do la-sa-reka-do hajj mase
what has been done will be undone by the wielder of this blade
the present will fall to the past
I swore never again. A single tear rolled down his face and was caught in one of the larger pot-mark scars by his chin.
>::<
go to sleep little one
This is gonna be mint.
I just wish I knew some good campfire songs. But I've got a book of ghost stories.
I would not trade this summer for anything. It hasn't been an especially "fun" or "exciting" summer, but the mental growth I've experienced in myself has been... well there's no other word for it: enlightening. I am full of sunny days and fervent grassy knolls. I love people, but do not require love in return. I am just happy being here. Now. The present is bright and the future is like looking to the sun. All my uncertainties are gone; I'll sort it out when I get there. No worries. Mate. Ahaha.
ooo... lights
I.... wow... I want to share this feeling.
I just read what I wrote and I seem like I'm on drugs. I assure myself I am not.
Dag, Martha the world is a freakin' filled box.
Not an empty box to be seen!
One of my favorite words is 'ethereal'. It sounds mystic, like the word itself understands what it means. Like it could, if it chose, pop up and slap me every time I use it incorrectly. It's a word that tames creatures, commands wizards, and tames nature and magic as playthings. A word of mist covered hills in anxious preparation for a shattering battle that will determine the rest of time, the remainder of days.
Hehe, they DO care, even if they say they don't.
Dag is the word of the year.
>::<
The red-hot steel made a hissing sound as it touched the cool water. Steam rose into a worn leathery face. This unshaven face was a field of scars and memories. Years of sun and weathering burned these marks in permanently, forever reminding it's owner of past transgressions and sins. He believed he deserved them. And perhaps he did. The steam condensed on his chiseled features and fell drip-drip into the cooling basin below. The steel blade had returned to its natural cold silver appearance, and was ready for polishing.
Funny, thought the weaponsmith, that I should make such tools of war.
The blade was perfectly smooth, polished to reflective perfection. His reflection startled him, as it always did. Such an old, hard face. Many years of evil had done this. So many years...
He slowly carved the runes of the ancient, unspoken tongue into the mirror-like surface of the blade. These runes were now forbidden, but this blade was not intended to keep or defend the law.
matte-sa-neka-do la-sa-reka-do hajj mase
what has been done will be undone by the wielder of this blade
the present will fall to the past
I swore never again. A single tear rolled down his face and was caught in one of the larger pot-mark scars by his chin.
>::<
go to sleep little one
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