My words could make worlds

I would love to write a book and make others care
have ideas what with people I can share
dream a thought make new beings out of air
be the creator of it all write where I should choose
no one but me can decide what my world will be
I could have not just one sun but three
the whole planet sinking in a rocking sea
In my book anything would be possible
If you believe it then it is so
you have nowhere to be and nowhere to go
time has no meaning there's just ebb and flow
in the place I will imagine magic is the norm
Fly if you wish and touch the tallest tree
bend like a river around the rock with me
lay like the moss does and be forever free
no matter what you choose always keep a dream
and what if it was more than a dream what if my writings were real what if like harold and his magic crayon whatever I wrote came true. I could do what I want with just my words on paper and anything could happen, oh what a world that would be. And even so in the world we are now my words could make worlds and make all of it real for with a little imagination anyone can believe.

Wouldn't that be Loverly

I think people used to love differently. That is to say I think love was something more pure and earnest in times long ago. Maybe my perception of love is skewed, but from what I have read, heard, seen, and experienced people just loved differently than they do now. Love was always portrayed as this unyielding, uncontrollable thing. Now though it seems like so many people view it as an antiquated ideal, reminiscent of an earlier time.

Like a mere shadow of what it used to be. I am not entirely cynical with my views on love in fact its quite the opposite seeing this change in people's ability or rather inability to show love has made me want to find that undying and untamable love. It doesn't even have to be in me I would just be so happy to glimpse it in anyone. I think the change is obviously societal, we are constantly encouraged to be tougher and show less emotion, which leads me to believe that underneath all the hard exteriors people are just waiting to love like people used to. I sincerely hope that is the case. I actually believe that too. After all who doesn't love to be in love?

I can blink and I can breath.

When I was four I remember learning to read. I remember sitting on my Mother's lap and starring at the jumble of letters I recognized from the alphabet. I remember being amazed that she could look down at them and make them not only into words but into a story. I remember sitting and studying the smooth cardboard flash cards that had little black pictures of the words I was supposed to be reading. I remember frustrating hours spent on 'Hooked on Phonics' and the picture of the mime on the box. I remember crying because I couldn't decipher this code that everyone but me seemed to understand. Yes, I remember the trials and suffering of learning to read, but I also remember the pure magic of reading my first book. I remember loving the story just as much as the feeling of accomplishment. I remember feeling heartbroken for poor Pretzel, the weenie dog when Greta, the love of his life paid no attention to him. I remember feeling terrified when Greta fell in the deep whole and couldn't get out. I remember feeling overjoyed when pretzel saved her, and they lived happily ever after. I remember starting to read chapter books and more than the sense of maturity that all children get from finally reading a chapter, I remember not wanting to wait another whole day for the next chapter. I remember reading the 'Harry Potter' books and being lost in a wondrous mythical world for days at a time. I remember finishing books and feeling whole, like reading the book made me that much more real. I remember receiving reading assignments and secretly being excited while my classmates groaned. 

I love to read, to live in a different world, to experience someone else's story. 

I can blink and I can breath, but to live I must read.