(no subject)
In my dreams I saw Isabelle standing there...
She looked different, like if time had suddenly aged, and she was no longer a young girl, but now she was more. She was a woman, slender curves. Her hair had changed, it now whipped around, long dark tresses floating on the wind. Her eyes were stormy, full of knowledge, full of life. She didn't stand on the hill with grass anymore. Instead she was sitting next to a brook, watching the pale moon reflecting on the water. Like cool glass the water stilled, as I approached her. It was beautiful, the light, the darkness, constrasting against the sky. Isabelle wore a dress of midnight, dark and forboding.
Her dress was simplistic, she made the dress beautiful. On anyone else I feel that the dress would look drab, plain. But Isabelle was many things. Mysterious, beautiful, knowledgeable. Many things I am not. Isabelle was real, Isabelle was whole. She told stories of life, stories full of sorrow and dispair. She told stories of death, stories full of mirth and laughter. She tells stories that have never been told.
Isabelle is full of contrasts. Light skin that looks like spun moonlight. Hair inky and dark, reflecting the night and its deep wonder. Eyes full of passion and love, hands that reach out to call you. Isabelle tells tales without words, tales without sounds.
Isabelle is full of magnificent secrets...
She looked different, like if time had suddenly aged, and she was no longer a young girl, but now she was more. She was a woman, slender curves. Her hair had changed, it now whipped around, long dark tresses floating on the wind. Her eyes were stormy, full of knowledge, full of life. She didn't stand on the hill with grass anymore. Instead she was sitting next to a brook, watching the pale moon reflecting on the water. Like cool glass the water stilled, as I approached her. It was beautiful, the light, the darkness, constrasting against the sky. Isabelle wore a dress of midnight, dark and forboding.
Her dress was simplistic, she made the dress beautiful. On anyone else I feel that the dress would look drab, plain. But Isabelle was many things. Mysterious, beautiful, knowledgeable. Many things I am not. Isabelle was real, Isabelle was whole. She told stories of life, stories full of sorrow and dispair. She told stories of death, stories full of mirth and laughter. She tells stories that have never been told.
Isabelle is full of contrasts. Light skin that looks like spun moonlight. Hair inky and dark, reflecting the night and its deep wonder. Eyes full of passion and love, hands that reach out to call you. Isabelle tells tales without words, tales without sounds.
Isabelle is full of magnificent secrets...