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Farewell simpletonsFootsteps are fading The air stirred by my passing Settles, and is stillFarewell simpletons
by ~Galad-Damodred
Journals of a Runaway, Part 4From the Journals, vol. XIJournals of a Runaway, Part 4
Hotel Avril, 112 Rue Ambrose, Paris 25th of December Just after dinner
It is strange to be so near my old home. I can see it from my window: 135 Rue Ambrose. An elegant turn of the century townhouse with lilac trees on the street outside.
I don’t know why I returned to Paris. I have memories of sparkling Christmases spent waltzing in Vienna, Christmases in St Petersburg with the streets all aglow, both somehow magical and tawdry all at once. Paris at Christmas holds no magic for me after Christmases spent at sea, maki
by ~Galad-Damodred
Journals of a Runaway, Part 3From the Journals, vol. VIJournals of a Runaway, Part 3
A park bench in Highgate, London 22nd of October Late afternoon
It is a cold place, England. I hadn’t ever been so far north until a year ago. After years of traveling around the Mediterranean, I visit the British Isles! I have memories of Parisian snow, the silent cold of a night in a rose-red city half as old as time, the biting winds off the Atlantic, but nothing like the grey, drizzly, foggy weather of a London autumn.
Yesterday, a little girl – attracted, perhaps, by my warm scarlet cloak, like some flag that calls out
by ~Galad-Damodred
Journals of a Runaway, Part 2From the Journals, vol. IIIJournals of a Runaway, Part 2
A hammock on a beach on Santorini, Greece 2nd of July Just after breakfast
It is so hot today! Good thing I’m on an island, because without the constant sea breeze, I’m afraid I’d bake.
Everything seems slower in the summertime. Colours are brighter, lights and sounds and scents are more intense and everything is radiant and golden, yet the days drift by in a blur of fun and contented forgetfulness, and one feels as though life has always been a lazy-hazy summer day. Lying here in the shade of the palms with the wind
by ~Galad-Damodred
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Any documented occasion where some yahoo claims God has spoken to them, they're speaking of me. Or they're talking to themselves. ~Metatron from Dogma~
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