Hitchhiked thru the south of France, spent a lovely day
Pyrenaic-hiking beneath a chilly blue sun, trekking into Spain &
ascending to sleep atop Taillón, enshrouded by eerie sweetness of soft
silent fog (drifting off, asleep in a cloud).
Olympus XA + Psychedelic Blues Film (Kodak Gold 400)
Nobody knows where the garish temple came from. Like the shopping complex into which it’s nestled, it seemed to appear overnight, drifting in on the fog at dawn.
It occurs to you that the building is either always empty or always full. You’ve never seen the restaurant anywhere between “abandoned” and “max capacity.”
The themes inside collide with each other. Egyptian carvings on Roman columns? Vaguely Hindu wall murals framing Tuscan windows?
The old chandelier above the host’s desk has never been lit. What monstrosity would be unleashed were it to ever catch fire?
You are handed a menu by a blank-eyed young woman who reeks of chocolate and shame. The menu is at least thirty pages long, but nobody ever seems to order from page thirteen.
Nobody orders from the Skinnylicious menu, either. You’ll admit that those options do appear delicious, but you are hesitant to utter that horrible word. Something in your heart tells you that it is a word that is not meant to be spoken.
The waitress tells you the fried cheese is mozzarella and fontina, but you detect hints of something else. Almond? Kerosene? Remorse?
Your bowl does not fit on your table. This is the lunch portion? Who needs this much food in one sitting? What manner of giant creature did this place serve before the dawn of man?
The cold cheese sits in cake form in the front window. You swear they were all different colors when you walked in.
There is a hinge in the wall of your booth, but it is attached to nothing. Is there a door resting in the wall? Where does it lead?
You order the Steak Diane. The restaurant seems to grow quieter, as though it heard your order. You could swear you saw the faintest flicker of fear pass over your waiter’s face before he solemnly nods and reluctantly returns to the kitchen.
You don’t know when the music changed, but for a second, you thought you heard the faintest whisper of a child crackling through the speakers before Adele returned.
The waiter returns with your Steak Diane. The hostess has been replaced with a man who has seen centuries trapped within these stucco walls. Every now and then, he glances at you with every bite you take.
Day 2 of March Hare Madness: This card is your tea cup now.
Clouds from the Playing Card Lenormand
So we’re sitting there with our cups of tea and they’re talking and I’m kinda just sleepily staring into my tea cup and watching the steam billow up from the hot tea, it smells like jasmine so soothing and nice, and I’m staring at the steam as it puffs up into tiny clouds and my eyes latch onto it until there’s nothing except this drifting fog; it fills my sight; there is no more pale tea, nor solid ceramic holding it; there is only water vapor, air. It shifts and swirls in front of me and I am mesmerized, but at the same time it is like looking at nothing, my mind focuses on nothing, only the shapes that are non-shapes, as though I could slip even myself into non being; but I persist in existing at least my eyes feel ever present, so large and round; they are not particularly watching but they remain seeing, they see particles of air or water drifting up or to and fro at the slightest movement of air. The air becomes a physical thing, solid heat and moist. Then like a knife my hand slices through the fog and I could wrap a strand of cloud around my finger like I am its master but then someone says my name and the entire existence I have created for myself dissipates, smoke into air, and dissolves, sugar into tea.
Could you do an imagine where you leave Neverland to go to the Enchanted Forest for something & you get cursed by Regina’s spell from s1 & Pan finds you but you don’t remember him? I know it’s long but yeah…c:
“I’ll be fine don’t worry.” I reassured Peter. “I have a bad feeling about this.” I cut him off with a kiss. “I’ll be back in three days time.” “I love you.” “I love you too and I’ll see you soon.”
The enchanted forest was beautiful.
I was making my way to go find Red when I saw a fog drift over the kingdom. Confused I watched it but passed out as it drifted over me.
“Y/N BREAKFAST IS READY!” My mother called. “COMING!” I yelled back. Every single night I would have the same dream. I didn’t know where I was to start but I knew I had to get back to this Peter guy. Peter was the only thing I could remember about him. Nothing else just a name. I shrugged it off and walked downstairs. “I need you to go babysit Henry Mills today.” My mom said as I sat down. “Yeah sure anytime you know I love that kid.” Regina Mills was my mothers best friend. Apparently they had know each other a very long time. Longer than you think, that’s what Regina always said. So I always hung out with Henry when he was alone. He was like my little brother in a way. After eating I ran upstairs and got all ready. I pulled on a random out fit and walked outside.
~Back in Neverland~
“Felix it’s been years. If I can’t find my true love then I have to take the heart of this kid. Now watch over Neverland I’m doing this personally.”
~Back in Storybrook~
“Hello Y/N.” Regina greeted. “Hey Regina.” “Henry is upstairs.” “Alright.” Regina left and I ran upstairs. “Henry?!” I called before walking into his room. The first thing I saw was him and some teenage boy. “Oh hey Henry who’s your friend.” “I’m Peter. Peter Pan.” “Wow your so funny. New flash Peter Pan isn’t real.” “Henry did the curse not break with her?” “No she needs true loves kiss and her boyfriend just dumped her.” “Oh kay there let’s not talk about that. Still hurts.” I said raising an eyebrow. “Sorry. Uh here let’s go to Granny’s.” Henry said. “Okay whatever I’ll drive.” I said grabbing my keys and purse.
I hung out with Peter and Henry. It was kinda fun. When it got late I dropped Henry off and drove Peter around town. “And over there is the town line. One day I’m going to cross it and live in the big wide somewhere.” I said staring out at the escape of this closed off town. “Do you not like it here?” “My only friend is Henry and I’m pretty sure my family hates me.” I said looking over at Peter. I saw something in his eyes. Almost an understanding. Before I knew it his lips where on mine. I felt a rush of memories and I pulled back gasping. “Peter?” “Y/N.” I wrapped my arms around him. “I promise to never leave again.” “Let’s take you home the lost boys will be very pleased.” “One second.” I wrote a letter to Henry and told him I would see him again soon. “Ready?” “Ready.”
You ask me why I love her? Well, give me time and I’ll explain.
Have you seen a Kansas sunset or an Arizona rain?
Have you drifted on a bayou down Louisiana way?
Have you watched a cold fog drifting over San Francisco Bay?
Have you heard a bobwhite calling in the Carolina pines,
Or heard the bellow of a diesel at the Appalachia mines?
Does the call of Niagara thrill you when you hear her waters roar?
Do you look with awe and wonder at her Massachusetts shore,
Where men who braved a hard new world first stepped on Plymounth’s rock?
And do you think of them when you stroll along a new York City dock?
Have you seen a snowflake drifting in the Rockies, way up high?
Have you seen the sun come blazing down from a bright Nevada sky?
Do you hail to the Columbia as she rushes to the sea,
Or bow your head at Gettysburg at our struggle to be free?
Have you seen the mighty Tetons? Have you watched an eagle soar?
Have you see the Mississippi roll along Missouri’s shore?
Have you felt a chill at Michigan when on a winter’s day
Her waters rage along the shore in thunderous display?
Does the word “Aloha” make you warm? Do you stare in disbelief
When you see the surf come roaring in at Waimea Reef?
From Alaska’s cold to the Everglades, from the Rio Grande to Maine,
My heart cries out, my pulse runs fast at the might of her domain.
You ask me why I love her? I’ve a million reasons why:
My Beautiful America, beneath God’s wide, wide sky.
A fog had rolled in that morning, cool and thick and mysterious, and in the middle of a grassy clearing amidst a forest sat a woman with navy skin and sky blue wings. She perched on a flat, smooth stone and had an ornamental lute in her arms, her elegant fingers plucking the strings as she played a soft, haunting melody, the notes drifting through the fog-filled air.
She paused however when she heard soft footsteps approach her and looked up, spying a samurai in the clearing with her. She was sitting on Goemon’s favorite mediation stone in his favorite forest.