So, I have this addiction...

I don't really know what constitutes as a legit blog, so you're just going to have to bear with me as I muddle though my first couple (trillion (is trillion even a real word?)) posts. But, my sister has a blog and if I could figure out how to put a link in the side bar, I would show it too you. Anywho, she sometimes posts what she's writing, so I thought I would give that a whirl.

This may or may not have occurred to you already, but I'm a writer. I write because the alternative is to slowly dissolve into madness. When I write, I can be anyone, go anywhere. I can be free when I write and that freedom is something, I think, that everyone chases. And I am lucky to grasp that, even just for a moment.

So I think I'll share my little portion of freedom with you.

The willows hang in desolate readiness. They crave the wind like a wallflower craves a partner.
When the wind does come, they play coy, shying this way and that, because a lady must never seem too eager.
Luckily for them both, the wind is not dissuaded by hesitance. 
It redoubles its efforts and the willow is caught up in its fervor
They spin and twirl and glide until the willow is lush with life and dizzy on oxygen. But the wind is heedless of its partner's state, whipping her further and faster while she shrieks in delight.
They are frenzied now, no longer cautious, still achingly graceful, as they writhe and tangle, then slide free and begin again. They are heedless of time and place, of desires that do not include each other and strictures they do not place on themselves.
There is no sound but the screams of the willow as the wind caresses her with such urgency that there is nothing to do but scream.
There is no time, but the time they have left, but they have long since learned to turn seconds into hours and minutes into lifetimes.
The willow is so consumed by sensation, that when the wind is gone as suddenly as he appeared, she feels his absence as a physical blow and hangs defeated in the place she once called home.
Her only consolation as she is suffocated by loneliness is that the wind always returns.
So she will always be waiting.


Obnoxious question time: What did you think? Blog: too long, too short? Am I mildly interesting? Did you like it? What's your favourite colour?

Until next time then.