the moon, like to a silver bow. (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} luna_fay) wrote,@ 2009-03-22 20:41:00 |
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I am a bluebird.
I am free, a hummingbird, delicate and iridescent. Spring makes me feel happier, watching the world become whole again, alive. Daffodils, and irises and daisies, reading books in the long grass.
A few weeks ago, on march the eleventh, I travelled to London for a few days, with my love. We stayed in Covent Garden, with the pretty cobbled streets and cake shops. We looked in a dimly lit bookshop hidden away, which was almost like a dream, children’s books spilling on to the carpet, first editions in their cellophane covers, pages crisp and yellowing from age. The words peering out, wanting to be bought. I spied Peter Pan and Wendy, but two hundred and fifty pounds is an awful lot of money. I wanted to touch the fine print, and find a golden ticket hidden between the pages of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
The streets are a giant maze, buildings tower high and powerful, leviathans. People reading their mountains of books, starry eyes and bottomless cups of sweet coffee, with milk and cream. Lights, tiny glow worms that never go out, leading us into eerie underground tunnels. Standing on a deserted platform at quarter to midnight, a one way ticket to neverwhere, perhaps.
Markets that smell of stale tobacco smoke and sugared fast food, everything is fast. In the morning, the city sleeps, while we eat almond croissants for breakfast in a café with quiet conversation.
Your music, drumbeats and distorted guitars, one row from the stage, arms reaching out and singing your little hearts out, knowing all of the words we will never forget. You touched the crowd with your voice, and your keyboards. We used to swim the same moonlight waters, oceans away from the wakeful day...
These photographs were taken in Trebah gardens, we went there last week, and drank lemonade by the lake.
If I could be anything at all, I would be your guardian angel, always watching over you.
*
I am free, a hummingbird, delicate and iridescent. Spring makes me feel happier, watching the world become whole again, alive. Daffodils, and irises and daisies, reading books in the long grass.
A few weeks ago, on march the eleventh, I travelled to London for a few days, with my love. We stayed in Covent Garden, with the pretty cobbled streets and cake shops. We looked in a dimly lit bookshop hidden away, which was almost like a dream, children’s books spilling on to the carpet, first editions in their cellophane covers, pages crisp and yellowing from age. The words peering out, wanting to be bought. I spied Peter Pan and Wendy, but two hundred and fifty pounds is an awful lot of money. I wanted to touch the fine print, and find a golden ticket hidden between the pages of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
The streets are a giant maze, buildings tower high and powerful, leviathans. People reading their mountains of books, starry eyes and bottomless cups of sweet coffee, with milk and cream. Lights, tiny glow worms that never go out, leading us into eerie underground tunnels. Standing on a deserted platform at quarter to midnight, a one way ticket to neverwhere, perhaps.
Markets that smell of stale tobacco smoke and sugared fast food, everything is fast. In the morning, the city sleeps, while we eat almond croissants for breakfast in a café with quiet conversation.
Your music, drumbeats and distorted guitars, one row from the stage, arms reaching out and singing your little hearts out, knowing all of the words we will never forget. You touched the crowd with your voice, and your keyboards. We used to swim the same moonlight waters, oceans away from the wakeful day...
These photographs were taken in Trebah gardens, we went there last week, and drank lemonade by the lake.
If I could be anything at all, I would be your guardian angel, always watching over you.
*
