I felt you on my bare arms and face-

a warm, balmy wind that lulls everyone it meets.

Drifting through willow trees,

playfully tousling my hair-

Oh, to float away like you do!

Yet, I am thankful for your ghost now residing in the air,

with his cold, metallic aroma burning my nostrils.

In the presence of the icy current, a feeling stirs within;

Your breath whispers ancient December tales.

Frigid and chemical, yet strangely sentimental.

The Dream Diaries. (Part I)

 "Sleep Walking"

     I sat in my room all day, lethargic and disbelieving that the clouds above could hold such a ridiculous amount of water. I knew it'd been an oddly warm, soggy autumn, and learned to expect uncanny, flood waters flow across the sidewalks like they were racing each other to the sewage drain. These days, the swampy voyage of neighbors to their mailboxes was safer when made via swinging rope, a particularly brilliant way of travel if you ask me. Life in Foxley, such a normally safe, generic town spent their days confounded by the never-ending wetness of earth, and the velvety gray clouds that wrapped the atomosphere in an eery, yet beautiful melancholia.
   
Two.....
            Three.......
                   
     Four hours and five minutes crept away as I lie, wide eyed underneath my comforter. I thought, and thought, and thought about every little thing that floated into my mind. I  thought of the interesting, interpersonal, and intergalactic. It was a mess- a beautiful mess. The more I thought, the more I discovered. The more I discovered, the warmer I felt. There was a warmth, but also a sadness. I didn't mind it , though... Everything was all starting to feel....the same....

     When closed my eyes at last,  I felt the warmth dissipate from my feet quickly.

      I gasped in surprise as a tiny army of sharp, icy droplets began to douse my face.

Typewriters.

They're such a fantastic concept. 

Think about it. There are no backspaces, no copy and paste. One simply writes the best they can, and it’s done. Their train of thought makes a permanent stop in a train station made of paper. It’s permanently there stretched out across a harsh white plane in a timeless, crisp font.  It’s no wonder why the some of the greatest books and poems were written on them, as well as by hand… I think things written in ink have such a deep honesty to them. Of course this doesn’t apply to every single written work, but as a a general theory, it makes sense…

It’s so easy to pretend these days… To cover up our mistakes. To torture thoughts and actions to “near perfection”. We’re a generation obsessed with always getting it right and a burning desire to succeed and be revolutionary, and think that it’s achieved by reaching an unrealistic standard that society has formed for us out of fear and ignorance. Truth of the matter is, we’re not all little robots. I wish people were less afraid of failure. Less afraid of being different. I wish people would take the time to write what they want, but to deeply think about it. I wish I wasn’t so apprehensive about writing terrible poetry, or not writing something that everyone will understand.

The reason I like typewriters and writing letters is because it makes me want to pursue excellence. To the best of my ability. I guess by excellent, I mean totally raw, fearless originality. I want people to feel like I thought about something that I’ve written… That I’m writing how I honestly feel.

A fresh, unclear thought can be put in order on paper. Revision after revision, it may not ever be what you wanted, but how cool is it that you’ve just pulled something out of your brain, your own personal wonderland, and translated it into a physical, legible Daydream On Paper: to either share with the world or just to look back on when you’re old and your opinions have changed. This is one of the reasons I love writing! Words can carry your soul and speak your deepest thoughts long after you’ve disappeared from this life. Would you like to leave something behind? Write it out. Make it beautiful…. But more importantly, make it real.

Say what you mean. Mean what you say.

XOXO

Dear Friend,

What’s happened to you?

You were princess among all others.

Dancing in the eery twilight,

Joining in the owl’s anthem to the man in the moon.

Why then, have you ripped off your faerie wings?

Daughter Nature, clothed in magic and warmth,

is now a distant, flaring star.

Come back to us.

Come back to me.

  A poem I wrote for someone I miss... The first of many.

It's done!

I've made a blog. Hurrah. I guess I'll start by introducing myself. 
  
   Hello, I'm Gabriella.If you'd like to know more, you need only ask! I've somewhat recently become more interested writing, and thought to myself "what better way of improving than to write down all the crazy contents of your brain for other's enjoyment?" Well, there might be a few better ideas, but I'd be hard pressed to say that they're more fun than this! Okay, I suppose I should say that I'm not the most consistent writer, but that is a habit I am trying to end. I am a fairly interesting person....Crazy as a fox, at times. I love making people laugh, and I love people who make me laugh! Anyhow, The contents of this blog should be pretty diverse, from poetry, to short stories, to sentimental ramblings. if you have any comments(kindness counts), I'd love to hear them! In time, I hope you come visit my little home of creative expression and find it cozy and exciting. Much thanks to those who will read this and continue to read what I write. That is all.