Muse 92: Another World

found via adelee

I've heard stories about fish people or mer-people - well, people that live beneath the water. They breathe underwater and suffocate on land; glide between rivers and stumble on sand. I heard that they loved each other wholly without judgment or presumptuous misconceptions; that they have luxurious flowing hair that never tangles, and when they swim the undulating waves ripple like ribbons behind them. Ever since I was a little girl, I was fascinated with the possibilities underneath that liquid mirror. I saw myself and wondered if it was really a mermaid looking back at me, a girl just as curious to know what it's like to live where you don't belong. When I'm by the lake, it's just by habit that I let my fingers run gently over the water, wanting to feel the embrace of the other person touching me... but I don't know if I'll still smile when a hand, even if it is the most beautiful hand that belongs to the most handsome of merman, comes out to welcome me into their world. 

Muse 31: Tinkling

found via flickr

I wanted every copy to remind me of my youth. Every unbroken page, perfect before the breath of adulthood, would be just as fresh to the touch, like the very first novel of Barrie's I took up. My eyes flickered frantically across the page, consuming each word with a fierceness only age could give a person. As if the pages, the story, the magic dust could disappear as easily as youth. Budding with excitement, I straightened my back as the island invited me deeper into plain Indian lands and jagged Skull Rock. Lost Boys weaved me through the twisted forest, and I ran for miles without every growing tired. I flew across oceans on kites, with no fear of death, to greet the sun with a loud crow. Then, like the stabbing daggers of Hook's evil, the knowledge that every page led me closer to the pending ending wretched my stomach with bile, but I could not stop - I do believe in fairies, I do. I do. Surviving whips and lashes of the battle on the Jolly Roger, I cried as the pages brought me back to the darling window. The tears fell incessantly when Pan returned, just as he did each time, never to remember Tinkbell and the adventures that had been had. To die would be an awfully big adventure, but to die is better than to forget. Maybe tomorrow, there will be another copy sitting on the shelves for me, for that is all how far I dare to travel when it comes to Neverland.