Treime Stuf

Jesus I haven’t been able to log into this account in a while and I am so so sorry for that. I am diving back into these works as soon as possible to anticipate updates 

So unfortunately I’ve been cursed with a bout of writer’s block. I’m putting Boy in the Bubble along with Champagne on hold while I work on something else. I’m sorry for those anticipating an update on those two works.

He cherished them like gold
          Folktales, fairy tales, myths and legends.
          
          He lifted one with more reverence than the sacred texts.
          He was versed in three dead languages and all the tales ever written in them 
          But ragged as a beggar.
          
          The library knows it’s own mind.
          When it steals a boy, we let it keep him.
          
          “Strange the dream.” They called him 
          He drifted about
          His head full of myths, 
          Always at least half lost in some other land of story.
          
          He believed in magic. 
          In ghosts.
          
          Head in the clouds,
          World of his owns,
          Fairy tales.
          
          They called him a dreamer, 
          He had a dream—a guiding and abiding one. 
          Like a second soul inside his skin.
          
          Too daring. Too magnificent.
          But the dream chooses the dreamer,
          Not the other way around. 
          
          “Strange?”
          
          “In a way.”

Guess who’s another year closer to death!
          
          This gal! *finger guns*

Happy New Years and all that jazz. I promise I’m not drunk yet