The Ocean

There’s something magic about the ocean.

Maybe it’s just the way the waves crash on the sand. Maybe it’s that lonely cry of the gulls, swooping and soaring above. Or maybe it’s that mystical rush you feel deep down in your toes, rising up into your legs and hands and shoulders and into your very soul, as the fog lifts on the sandbar early on a summer morning.

 What causes the rush? Possibilities. So many possibilities that the day might hold; because when you are near the ocean, nothing seems impossible.

 

 There’s something magic about the ocean.

 

 It’s not just water; it’s so much more. It’s feeling the brinish wind play through my hair, seeing the sea treasures awash on the shore, hearing the roar and tumble of the waves, smelling the faint, sweet aromas of the sea-town. The flat expanse of sand when the tide is low, it calls me, beckons me to come dance and run and twirl and be alive and be one with the sea.

  The water itself, so full of power draws me nearer to the Power that created it. Just as the great mighty ocean stretches too far for my pitiful eyes to see, so the weak eyes of my soul cannot comprehend the Majesty of my God. 

 For it is always here---- surrounded by the sapphire waves that I can feel Him most, and feel most alive and free.

 

There’s something magic about the ocean.

 

  It is as changeable as I am, for its mood matches mine. On happy days I hear its laugh in the frothy foam; on serious days it whispers to back to me in the creeping ripples; and on the days when I remember the things I wish I could forget, the sea echoes back my tears in the cool, dewy mists.

 Here on its sandy shores do I know myself the best. The ocean is wild. The ocean is calm. The ocean is beautiful. The ocean is happy. The ocean is sad. The ocean is free. The ocean, the ocean, the ocean….

 

There’s something magic about the ocean. Maybe it’s just the way the waves crash on the sand.

 

  Or maybe, it’s something much, much more.

Cream Cheese

Lurking lost lonesome

Scarred and betrayed

Longing

Love unreachable  

Emptiness echoes through darkness

Rose faded

Snow cold

Fire burns

Night falls and hearts break

Who to choose?

Which path to follow?

Life of love?

Life of regret?

Mirror shattered

Life shattered

Music soothing

Melody beautiful, beautiful

What is the answer?

 

Past love

The iron falls

The barrier strong

Breathe

Haunted passage

Haunted existence

How to make her see

Path so clear

Time to choose

Free you I must

 Free you I cannot

Destiny unraveled

Night of fury

Choked by blindness

Heart no longer mine

Gold within my grasp

At last we are free

 

 

Kindness the key

Hidden in shadow

Where to turn?

Where to run?

Choices before me

Fear a knife at my throat

No

Cannot turn back

Running, fighting,

Song of flight

Darkness of night

Who to be,

Who to become?

Too little time

No turning back

So alone

Prisoner

Who deserves this?

A world of riches

No way out of this

Last gift

Last tears

Final parting

Though through the years

Regrets reign long

Sorrow and joy

Love unending

Make a wish

Hope a dream

Daylight shines

Path to safety

Shelter abounding

Love triumphant

Blue light

Starry night

Cream cheese

Strangeness of it all

Life in a nutshell

How many words remain?

Too many to count

The moments fly by

The days are endless

The Night is coming

Sleep pulls me into shadow

Circles of life

Bridges to freedom

Songs on my lips

The day is almost at an end

Goodbye

Farewell

Never

Meet

Again.

Autumn's Journey

 Yellow falling

Red, crimson swirling down

All around me the colors of the sunset fly

Fly, fly

Down, around, surround, abound

They float and dance

The dance of the wind

The waltz of the winter coming

Coming

Cold and dead but living color

Gold, rich and precious flying away

Gold of the sky falling to earth

Silent rush of Fall

Autumn unfurls its beauty

All around me dancing

Breeze brushes past

Sinking, floating, drifting

Friends parted

Hearts broken

Their day is done

The year is fading into night

Shadows fall

Cold seeps into the earth like the whisper of a coming silence

Falling, tryst with the past

Prisoner to the future

They fly far, the colors of the season

Their sorrow and laughter rings in the air

Crisp and bright

The Tree lets go her children

The wind welcomes them

The journey of Autumn is begun.

Forever Free

Beautiful, beautiful my heart cries out unto You.

Stars in the sky shine down on me.

River of love springing up inside.

World so full.

Soul so alive.

All is within my grasp.

All is surrounding me.

Future today.

Past insignificant.

Tomorrow awaits.

Forever I’m free.

 

Light

Fall night

Starlight

Steadfast always

Moon bright

One sight

Once right

Now I wander

Dark fright

Across the world

From dawn to night

Day after day

Night after night

Then You came

Then I saw

Sky of twilight

One perfect Light

Truth and Peace

Always right

Love unfailing

Love divine

Complete in Might

Real vision

 Real sight

Forever and always

Forever alight….

Hidden Treasure

The cry of the birds;

In that sad sweet call, so much hidden.

But so much revealed once I discover the Truth.

Desperation, alluring;

Find a way. This way! This way!

It summons me far, daring me to chase,

Daring me to fall into that trap.

Follow! Follow!

My eyes search for what I know is there.

They stray from rock to tree to earthy cove.

I spy it!

Hidden deep, but I see it none the less.

This way! This way!

Mother’s calm cry, deceptive in its secret panic.

She taunts gently, awaiting me to follow.

But I know now, for I have seen.

Tiny and beautiful, the Spring’s best gift,

Magical in its delicacy,

Nest of safety.

I glance into that paradise of comfort.

So soft, so warm.

Lithe little creatures so new, so bright.

But I know I mustn’t stay.

Turn, turn away.

I fall willingly into her trap.

Mother cries out again, leading me away from that tiny miracle.

I walk away, leaving in peace that precious treasure.

Mother birdie cries out again, luring me away.

I follow as she hops along.

Path curves and dances, for mother is determined to protect.

She takes flight triumphantly, wings beating in a rush.

Eyes following her trail, my thoughts turn skyward.

She disappears into the eternity of blue.

It stretches on.

And I hear one final call of the sand-piper,

Before I bid the birds farewell.

Flight

Heart singing

    Fear fleeing.
 Love awakens,
    
      Dances on.

                  Freedom on the wind;
           I'm flying,
               Soaring;
    
                            Far away;
                                                     My mind glances

                                                            Behind,

                                                                But my soul urges on.
                                             
                                                                                                                        Never
     
                                                                                                                              Turn

                                                                                                                                  Back.

~*~

  Alice sighed. She stooped and set Connie's chair right side up and collected Mr. Alden's scattered papers. Looking at them she noticed an A+ on the paper she had written. Trying to smile, Alice could only manage a weak grimace. She couldn't shake the raw feeling that came every time anyone looked at her with that embarrassed expression she had seen on Connie's face a few minutes earlier. Setting the papers on the big desk, Alice walked slowly to the window, thinking. Outside students were arriving. Soon they would pour into first period classes, then the next, and the next. They would go home, eat, sleep, and repeat the whole process the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Every day for years. Two more years in her case. Then what? Most would move on to a four-year university, more education.

Education? She thought. What were they really learning? She looked around her at the school, the students. Did they really learn anything here? No one knew how to behave around her. She didn't know how to behave around them. Surely things like that should be taught as well as Algebra and English.

Wearily, Alice sank back into her seat. Mr. Alden opened the door and a train of kids piled in after him. Connie came back, sitting down next to Alice as if nothing had happened. Connie's soft brown eyes so conspicuously ignored her that the raw feeling grew sharper than ever.

Class started and Alice retreated to her writing, barely listening to the lecture as she lost herself in a world of magic and mystery where she was a beautiful maid twirling around a woodland camp-fire among a crowd of dancing peasants.

~*~

Connie Wheeler shifted her bag to her other shoulder uncomfortably. She was earlier to English than she had expected, and the strange girl was already there. She sat hunched over that blue notebook scrawling swirly dark letters across its pages as if her life depended on it. Connie had never dared to glance at the words, but she suspected that they weren't English notes.

Now, nervous to be alone with the girl, Connie walked slowly over to their desk and took her seat. She pulled her own notebook from her bag and began doodling.

The pale hand hesitated in its frantic pace for a moment. Then, as if reassured that Connie was not going to bother her, the girl resumed her writing.

Connie scribbled flowers and hearts for a few minutes, her thoughts fixed on the purpose of keeping her eyes downcast. They strayed towards that small figure next to her. Connie jerked them back. Why did no one come?

The clock read 7:16. Fourteen more minutes until class. Connie shuffled her feet nervously, setting her English book upright on the desk. She glanced back towards the girl. A quick look. She would never notice...

Unable to resist her curiosity, Connie peered cautiously around her English book. The scars were deep. What would cause such horrible, ugly marks? Had she been maliciously attacked or mauled when she was a child? An abusive father maybe? Or an uncle? Or perhaps she was burned in a terrible fire.

Connie's vivid imagination quickly concocted a scene in a large gothic mansion. Blazing fire snaked its way towards the innocent babe as the mother fended off an insane first wife of the father. Satisfied with the romantic horror of this scene, Connie spun the tale further. Her mind spiraled faster and faster, enjoying the delicious eeriness of her story. She concluded that the insane woman must have murdered both of them and then killed herself, leaving the child to be rescued by a servant.

Pleased, Connie tucked the plot away in her mental file cabinet to be used later. Coming back to reality, her eyes refocused. Startled, Connie realized in horror that she was still staring at the girl's face, more specifically, straight into her cold, clear blue eyes. Gasping, Connie dove behind her textbook again. Her face filled with hot color.

What must she think of me?!

The girl continued to stare at her. Those eyes, like pale blue daggers, pierced Connie's very soul. Filled with shame and embarrassment, she searched her mind for some apology. Nothing.

What could she say? I just couldn't help it, your face is so weird I had to look?

Of course not! Desperate for an excuse to leave the room, she sniffed loudly.

"Oops, need a tissue."

On her way out Connie upset her chair and a pile of papers on Mr. Alden's desk. She didn't stop to pick them up.

Weekly Word Count:

~ 3,784

Scars

Alice brushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes, hunching over her desk. She studied the room, the sound of laughter and gossip echoing in her ears. They were all talking, familiar with one another. Heart beating faster she thumbed through her blue notebook finding the tab she had labeled for English. Bits of conversation flew past her. It was a typical highschool classroom.
  A girl with blonde hair carrying a large pink bag sat down next to Alice, giggling to her friend across the room. The girl was beautiful, her frothy blonde locks shining. Alice shook her black hair over her face, wishing she could pull it over her completely like a shield.

Mr. Alden began droning about the class. Alice shrunk in her seat as he walked towards her.

 
   Not even looking up from the attendance clip-board, he asked her, “Will you pass these out to the class please?" Handing her a stack of rubrics he walked back to the board, not giving her a chance to protest. Alice swallowed hard. She would have rather faced a legion of tanks and machine guns than hand out those rubrics. What choice do I have?

  Panicking inwardly, she stood. Taking the first paper, she offered it, with a shaking hand, to the blonde girl. She looked up at Alice's face, the smile falling from her lips, replaced by the look Alice had come to dread. Shock, revulsion, embarrassment. They flashed across the girl's pretty face in an instant.

She stammered a thank you and quickly looked down. Hate and self-loathing burned in Alice's chest. She handed papers to several others. One boy looked at her openly, smirking.

 
  "What happened to you?" He whispered cruelly. The teacher shuffled distractedly through a pile of papers as he explained the rubric. Alice practically threw the papers at the last few students before falling into her seat again, tears stinging her eyes. She heard nothing more the whole class. As the bell rang and the students exploded out into the hallway, she ran for the bathroom, unable to stop the hot rush of tears that flooded her cheeks. Sobbing, Alice threw back her hood, staring at her reflection.

Ice blue eyes framed by thick black strands of hair, contrasted strongly to her pale face. She tried to imagine what her face would look like without the crude scars that ran from her forehead across her nose and down her right cheek. They severed her face like a slash of black soot across a watercolor painting.

    Straining for some way to cover up her face, Alice yanked her hoodie up again, pulling her hair across her eyes. It was useless. No point in being blinded by her hair as well as scarred and disfigured. Stifling her sobs, Alice inhaled shakily, forcing herself back out into the world. A world that hated her.

 

Window to the World

  Words swirled through my mind as I pounded the keys and scribbled notes on my torn paper. In reality I was sitting in my office, a dull room with white walls, a computer and not much else. Void of all character. But to me it was the window to the world. Through the blank pages that flew across that screen I could travel anywhere in this world or in any other world. New adventures and characters awaited me at every press of the space bar: enthralling explorers, captivating princesses, dark phantoms, evil villains, wise grandmothers and courageous heroes.

Story after story, creations I was proud to call my own came out of that office. Few were any good, but as the years went by and my experience broadened, the characters became more true, the emotions more real and the stories more relatable. And with this I realized something. Even better than the window to the world, that office was my window to the human heart.

Positives

Today something happened.

Well of course, many things happened today, but I mean something special.

  My parents told me to clean my room, so I cleaned my bathroom, and then my mom came and asked me if I knew where our DVD set of Downton Abbey Season Two was.  (She was looking around my room as though she suspected that I had maliciously hidden it in there somewhere). I didn't know, so we searched for a while. My dad was busy grooming our dog amidst a floating cloud of white hair. I busied myself by singing, facebooking, homeworking, and searching for Downton Abbey. By this time my mom was really going crazy looking for Downton Abbey, and my dad was really going crazy trying to wrestle the dog in the middle of this sea of hair. Our other dog was barking (probably at nothing, because he is losing his sight and hearing, and he's always been stupid to begin with), and my mom was slamming around the house asking me if I'd loaned Downton Abbey to any of my friends, at the same time calling all of her friends asking if they had it.
  My dad yelled for my mom to come hold the dog down because it had tried to bite him. He told me bluntly, "You can go." as I stood in the doorway.

Finally, they left to run an errand.

 I peacefully made my lunch, singing my lungs out as I always do when there is no one around to complain about it. Then they came back. My mom started searching and my dad started grooming and I retired to the shower before anyone could tell me to do something.

And then, after some more searching and cleaning my room, I sat down at this computer. What shall I write about? I thought.


And that is when it happened.

I looked down at my floor (which should probably be vacuumed today) and saw something shiny.

  It is a tiny diamond bead. Nothing expensive, or even beautiful. In fact, it's probably from Walmart. But its bright twinkle made me smile, and reminded me of something very important:

Too often we get so caught up in the negatives of life that we forget to look for positives. The sun is shining, I have a new pink scarf, and there's a sparkly bead on my messy floor. Positives.

Yes, my parents are driving me insane today, but they do love me very much and I do love them. Yes, Downton Abbey may be lost forever, but it probably won't be. Yes, I hate dogs.

Yes. I hate dogs.

The End.

Alex the Daring Bumblebee

Once upon a time there was a little bumblebee. Her name was Alex.

Alex the bumblebee was very small, but she liked to be adventurous and zip around and fly in circles. All the other bumblebees would fly in straight lines, and go land on the daisies and pansies and dandelions. But Alex the bumblebee would zigzag across the sky and fly in loop-de-loops and figure eights, making all the other bumblebees dizzy. Alex the bumblebee flew to the brightest flowers and liked to swoop dangerously close the Dog and the Pool. Once the Dog even took a snap at her, but Alex the bumblebee never even flinched.

Laura, the honeybee who lived in the nest next to Alex's, always tried to make Alex the bumble-bee behave. She would fly crazily along behind the little bumblebee, not quite catching up to her and buzzing nervously, "You're going to fly into something dangerous if you're not careful!"

But Alex the bumblebee would only laugh and fly the teensiest bit faster than before. Laura the honeybee would worry about her, but she would fly the teensiest bit faster herself, trying to keep an eye on her friend. 

  

 One day Alex the bumblebee flew in a straight line to a dandelion instead of a rose. Laura the honeybee gasped in alarm.

  “Whatever is the matter?” She cried flying over.

Alex the bumblebee sighed.

  “All the other bees fly in a straight line. None of them will like me if I don’t do the same.”

Laura the honeybee’s eyes filled with tiny teardrops. She realized how much she loved her unique bumble friend, not in spite of her funny flights, but rather because of them. She replied, “You don’t want to be like all the other bees Alex! Why, they’re so boring! I wouldn’t want to be anybody else’s bee friend but yours. Your way of flying is so much more fun.” Alex the bumblebee brightened. She smiled and realized that being different wasn’t so bad after all. Zipping away she buzzed horrifyingly close to the Bee Trap, and Laura the honeybee’s heart fluttered.

 
   “Even so, you must learn to be more careful Alex!” She buzzed nervously, flying after her.

Point of No Return

  Christine pulled her hood up and hunched over, the autumn wind biting her face with cold. She hurried away from the scene behind her, tears stinging her eyes and despair tearing at her heart. A whirl of thoughts flew through her quick mind, pricking her like needles, defying her to hope again, denying her worth.  Skirting past familiar houses, Christine hustled towards the corner. Turning around it, out of their sight at last, she broke into a run. The hopes she had smiled about that morning fell scattered about her like the golden leaves. Now tears came in a flood. Christine ran blindly, no longer caring where she ended up. She ran for miles, forcing the tears back, until she could run no more.

  Chest burning, she collapsed in a heap on the ground, sobbing and tearing at the grass with her fingers.  Heartbroken, she cried until she had no tears left. The sun began to fade in the sky.

    Sitting up, Christine looked around her. She was in a maple grove near the park. Behind her, a large house sat nestled in the maples like a cozy child wrapped in a blanket. Christine stood up, brushing her muddy hands on the seat of her jeans. She looked at the house more closely.

  Big. Yes, very big, and it looked old. Old and empty. Any other day, innocent, imaginative, cautious Christine would have turned and fled, for this house looked like something straight out of a Halloween movie. But today, her crushed spirit made her feel sorry for that lonely house.

  She walked up the steps, onto the large porch. The steps creaked and moaned; the porch sagged beneath her wait. She peered in through the open doors, their once beautiful glass cracked and foggy with dust. Blackness. It was a true ghost house.

  Christine, wide-eyed with fear now, brushed a cobweb from her hair and pushed into the quiet house. Imagination concocting a thousand ghouls to haunt the place, her breath came in fast gasps. Her booted foot bumped something. It was a glass bottle, the contents long evaporated. Next to it, clothe napkin lay. As she stared down at it, a whisper echoed in her ear.

 

   Point of…

 

  Startled, Christine whirled. A voice, surely from my own head. She thought. But had it been? She listened again.

 

  Point of no return….

 

Shaking, she looked up. Stairs. Not just stairs, a giant, twisted banister curling up three stories, mansion style. They were beautiful, even in such a corroded state. Above, a crystal chandelier hung, its thousands of prisms dull and cloudy. There were tables, still set with rotting food, a punch bowl stained pink, molded meats and breads, a beautiful cake, still half intact.

  Remembering her study of Great Expectations, Christine half expected to see the bitter old woman come down the stairs any moment.  But no one came.

  “Is anyone here?” She gasped softly, her own voice resounding throughout the great house, quiet though it was.

No answer. Sniffing, her nose red with cold, she spoke again.

  “Is anyone here?” Nothing. Louder this time,

  “Is anyone here?”

Trembling, she put a hand on the banister and stepped onto the first step.

 

   You’ve passed the point of no return!

To My Ethel, Love Lucy

What is a friend?

I have a friend. She was there the day I was born. She was there on my worst day. And she was there yesterday.
 And I know for certain that she'll be there for me tomorrow. I will never stop loving her and she will never stop loving me. Our first fight, which was once so bitter, is a joke to us now, though there are times when we still irk one another. Together we laugh, together we rage at the world, and even on occasion, together we cry. But on very special days, after we've laughed and raged and maybe cried, when the world is sleeping and the stars shine in the sky, we will whisper our dreams across a pillow of friendship.

  A secret is a precious sign of trust. She knows I can keep them when she tells me to. And I know I can trust her to keep my secrets locked away in that special part of her heart.

Some days we drift away, but always there's the strong tie of life-long friendship to pull us back together, and I know I can count on her for anything. Always, she's there with a smile, a kind word or an encouragement. Some days I'll hear a knock on the door, and there she'll be, with our favorite movie in one hand and a chocolate smoothie in the other.

 She's the only one who could convince me to jump in an icy pool at 9 o'clock at night.

 She's the only one I watch sappy movies with, screaming and crying and sighing.
 
 She's the only one I tell all my funniest moments to, although usually she shares them.

She is the Ethel to my Lucy, the Betty to my Veronica.

 I have a friend. She was there the day I was born. She was there on my worst day. And she was there yesterday.  And I know for certain that she'll be there for me tomorrow.



Genesis 29:17 "Rachel was....beautiful."

Beautiful inside and out. I love you.

The Sky's the Limit?

   Have you ever asked yourself what you would do if money was no object? I'm not talking about giving to charity or handing out money to random strangers or investing in real estate, or buying a thousand new tops and bracelets or neck ties or BMW's or whatever.
 What would you do for you?

A friend asked me this today as I was complaining about my writer's block.

What would I do, if I could do anything?

I thought and thought. And then I realized something. Money just doesn't matter much when it comes to my dreams. So often we get caught up in, "If I only had enough money I could do/buy/go..."

When I thought about this question, I remembered a dream I've had for years. Its a silly dream, so don't laugh:

I've always wanted to put on a flowy white dress and ride a horse on a deserted beach as the sun sets on the water.

Silly, I know. Girly too, but after all, look at my blog. Its pink, and about as girly as it gets. I'm a girly-girl and a hopeless romantic. Granted, it would cost a bit to do this: The dress alone would be expensive, and then there's the horse. And the beach. But really, compared to some things, it wouldn't take that much, and to me it would be worth it.
  To feel the salt-breeze blowing on my skin, the soft mane whipping in my face. Then the sand beneath me, the water splashing around, and the pink and orange glow of the setting sun.

I think about my dream and realize that there are many things I would like to do that might seem silly to others. But sometimes the silly moments in life are the ones that mean the most.

Coffee and the Future

As I sit here blowing my nose vigorously and craving coffee, I contemplate the future.

Will I make it to school tomorrow, or will this stuffy nose stop me?

How am I ever going to understand this algebra homework?

What was the history assignment?

And most of all, what in the world can I write about in my blog besides homework, stuffy noses and coffee?

I have found little to say over the past few days. Strange, because my mind has been racing. Maybe my thoughts are flying too fast for my fingers to catch up, or maybe I'm trying too hard to "think" of something to say. This past week and a half have been a crazy, twisted mixture of stress, fun, excitement, exhaustion, frozen yogurt, lack of sleep, pinks scarves, confusion, and the bizarre feeling that this world doesn't actually exist.

For so long my identity has been wrapped up in a whirl of dreams and problems, people and drama that no longer really matters to me. I can't help but feel unreal as I try to sort out the future. Who I was yesterday is not who I am today.

The things that have seemed so important, so hard, so full of romantic tragedy concocted by my silly little girlish brain, trying so hard to be grown up, are suddenly just that: silly.

Why did I care so much about this? I ask.

More importantly, where do I go from here? There is a whole world of endless possibilities waiting for me behind a door, and I can't seem to find the key. It’s here somewhere, hidden in my soul. I search, and sometimes answers come; sometimes answers that even seem miraculous.

Who will I choose to be?

Who do You want me to be?

That girl tomorrow may even be different from the one who sits snuggled under my favorite zebra-stripe blankie writing these words. I don't know her yet, but I will soon.

And in the mean time, that algebra homework is still waiting for me.

Every Day I Ask Myself....

Days come and days go and life passes by.

And every day that comes and goes I wonder, "Who am I?"

Shadows fall and sunlight glows and darkness reigns again.

And with the rising sun I ask, "Who am I now, that I wasn't then?"

The day wears on and I do my best to be a light in someone's world.

And as the evening twilight draws, I ask, "Am I truly that girl?"

As the day's events begin to fade, I look into the mirror.

My eyes meet hers and I whisper soft, "Is it really me in there?"

This world so often seems alone, in its grandure we forget,

Another world far better waits, we just can't go there yet.

With each morning, with each night, I ponder in my mind,

"How will I shine my light and be a servant to mankind?"

As I see faces, familiar, strange and new,

I ask myself this question, "No longer, who am I, but more important, who are you?"

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks fade into years,

I ask myself this question now, "Have I served others or my fears?"

As I try to seek them out, the small, the strong, the old, the young,

I learn different ways of seeking. Some boldly stand apart, others walk among.

And with every year gone by, on every snowy New Year's Eve,

I ask myself this question:

 

"Heaven or the world, which one shall I strive to please?"

Opposites

The more you take from life, the more you crave.
The more you give to others, the more satisfied you are.

Lying builds guilt, until fear is a constant companion.
Truth may hurt for a while, but in the end it sets you free.

Hate serves only to destroy.
Love
    Never
        Fails.


"Seek first His kingdom and His rightousness
and all these things will be given to you as well."
 
                               -Matthew 6:33

IMAGINATION

Iventions that never existed before, and some that never will exist
Magic
 Anyone in the world
Growing up faster than reality lets you
Inspire others and yourself
  New places and faces
 A door to an endless world of possibilities
Thousands of ways to change the world
Inside and outside and inside out
 One adventure after another
No limitations

 

Imagination...

Freedom

Finally free.

Finally through.

I’ve found at last that I don’t need you.

My God is my savior, and His love is enough.

Your approval can’t tell me what I’m worth.

I tricked myself to believe,

That you truly cared about me.

And now I know. I know the truth.

And the truth has set me free.