Longing

Every day, she looked at the phone and sighed
No call, no hope
She had to wonder...
Was he feeling the smae thing?
Did he long to hear her voice
As much as she longed to hear his?
She didn't know
And she was afraid
That the answer was no
And so she never asked

(This isn't finished...its just the beginning)

The Weakened Man

      His face was worn and tired--similar to the old men I'd met in my time with Alianor. It was sort of an ashy gray, the color of an owl's gray pelt. Well, I suppose that's a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn't gray. But it was completely devoid of color--or emotion for that matter.
     His hair was not the sleek and golden color that I remembered. It was a dull, dusty color.
     But worst of all were those eyes. So many people--particularly infatuated women--had described the eyes of the prince of Idari. A beautiful sea-green, they'd told Alianor. But now? They were a dull and weary green, like a swamp.

My Thanks

I once spoke of being "the Lonely Writer" and i am not about to take it back, but there's a different side to that. You get to create whole worlds of people. And then there are the people who care, even if they dont understand. I guess its good to see them care. it makes all the difference. So, to everyone who follows this blog, who encourages me in any way, thank you.