She is a lonely girl. For years and years she has had no one to confide in, no one to keep her secrets. So she writes. The words become her savior, her shining beacon in a world consisting of little but darkness. There is something special with words, she decides. Something special about the way the blue ink fills the white, untouched pages in her book with its purple exterior. There is something special about it. Something magical. She cannot quite describe the way she feels about it because even though she has and always will have such a special relationship to words and the written language, she has no one to say them to. She is all alone.

Her greatest fear is that one day the words will disappear. That she one day will not have spoken with anyone for so long that all her words will be gone. And so she reads. She uses an old, tarnished dictionary that fills her with warmth every time she sees it. It is blue. Therefore blue, a dark navy blue, has become her favorite color and on her way to school she listens. She likes to ride the subway because so many words live there. Angry words, happy words. Sad words. Words disgracing. All of them. She loves them all. She knows that words are not always kind. She knows that they can be cruel, mean. Meant to hurt. To cause suffering. Still, they are her best friend. The way she uses them make them better. She is careful, thinks. She does not mean to cause pain. All she wants… what she wants is merely a dream.

They help her. Together with her words and her writing she dwells in wonderful happy countries, idyllic pictures that never appear in her real conscious life; on magical islands where the sun will never set. Where the darkness will never catch her. The darkness remains her enemy. It keeps her from what she loves the most and is hard, relentless. She does not understand when she hears someone describe it softly, with gentle voice. The darkness is pain. So she builds herself walls of words, walls of ink and paper. It is the only thing to keep her from hurting in the outer world. The rest of the world does not understand. It snorts at her self-made castle with words of make-belief with words of its own.

One day as she leaves the tube carriage she bumps in to someone. She kneels to pick up her notebook but as she does, so does he. The book falls again and the words spread for the wind. So she stares at them. At the words. The young man captures as many as he can, as many fully written pages as possible. He looks at her apologetically when a few of them fall down on the rail. Then he opens his mouth and out comes the words. Words she has longed for, wished for and dreamed of. It is a simple apology. An introduction. And in her eyes, in her word-filled world he creates a miracle. His words achieve an amazing thing. Slowly, as the days passes, the words continue coming from him. Simple words in easy sentences. And they grow.

All things are in need of energy. Nothing ever disappears. And as the warm words reach Lily, because that is her name, the darkness goes away. It transforms into something else. Into light. And together with the walls she has built around her, the scary words go away.
The words crumble down around her.

tjugonde juni tvåtusentio

2 kommentarer:

  1. Vackert asså! Tycker jag verkligen. Det är vackra ord som berör. Alla mina ord verkar nog bara små här, inte värda så mycket. Men de är iallafall sanna vill jag lova. :)

  1. Froste says:

    Ord som berömmer är alltid värda mycket! <3

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Ge mig ett ögonblick av din tid.

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future; concentrate the mind on the present moment."


Ett ögonblick.

It dawned on her and her entire world changed. Just like that. During one moment. That's all it takes. And moments - they're all we've got.

Here is a collection of moments. They are moments in which decisions are made, life-changing things happens, moments in which people finally stand up for what they believe in; fragments of lives bound in a single moment during which people shrink back in fear and terror. In some moments nothing at all happens.

Here they are. Moments of the World.


All men dream; but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recess of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act out their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.
T.E. Lawrence

I am Me.

18 years of age and expected to have a whole life planned, expected to know and to want. I don’t want much else than being happy, but people don’t like when you answer questions like that. It makes me a bit sad but there’s no need to worry: slowly, I’m changing the world.