eleven red letters
[Written, the sound of music drowning out the scratching of pen on paper.]
Another year gone past.
Sand falling.
The sands of time slipping through the hourglass,
through my fingers.
Does it make a difference?
Time passing in this place of magic and mystery
of chaos.
When I return home I won't remember, anyway.
I will neither mourn nor celebrate this day,
no candles
no cake
no cheerfully colored balloons.
I will let it pass with only this fleeting thought,
black ink on this white page for all to see.
[there are a few black dots, as if she thought about writing more, but changed her mind. Underneath is a little drawing of a cake with 17 candles on it]
((ooc: As if you couldn't tell, today is Nora's 17th birthday. Open over the journal, unless someone feels like knocking on her door))
Another year gone past.
Sand falling.
The sands of time slipping through the hourglass,
through my fingers.
Does it make a difference?
Time passing in this place of magic and mystery
of chaos.
When I return home I won't remember, anyway.
I will neither mourn nor celebrate this day,
no candles
no cake
no cheerfully colored balloons.
I will let it pass with only this fleeting thought,
black ink on this white page for all to see.
[there are a few black dots, as if she thought about writing more, but changed her mind. Underneath is a little drawing of a cake with 17 candles on it]
((ooc: As if you couldn't tell, today is Nora's 17th birthday. Open over the journal, unless someone feels like knocking on her door))