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Shy's quaint country cottage

 
Music flows...

She was home. Plans to write, to enjoy the day...hindered if a little. She would get to them. She would force herself to, if it came to that. But for now she played. She needed the soft, slow, eloquent melody to absorb her now. To feel its embrace as it soothed her mind, her heart, her soul. Simply, she needed to express. Words, at current, were failing. And her usual physical release was out of the question. Playing she could do. No thoughts, no physical exertion that would leave her on death's bed.

So for now she sat; small fingers gently pressing into the flesh of her piano, her forehead resting against the cool wood. Usually expressive emerald eyes hid behind closed lids, the melody flowing like a gentle river. It had its course to follow, but the journey was what was important for now. Then finally it dulled until it was but a memory that continued to ring in her ears.

She smiled softly before pulling herself to stand. A soft click and the piano case slipped over keys...a protection.

She would write...but not here. At her lake, yes. Grabbing her things and tucking them into a small bag, she left her cottage; her gaze intent on her lake that hid behind the forest before her.
 
 
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Music flowed, words did not. It was the way things were as of late.

Time...

Give it time...

She was tired of those words. Truly tired. Her half-written piece laid dormant on the chaise; steadily ignored as her fingers fluttered across the keys. Her head sunk low as her eyes finally closed; her mind retracing the events of the last week.

So many changes; powerful endings making way for beautiful beginnings. And the cycle would always continue; an ending, then a beginning, then an ending...it was the way of the world. And with it flowed emotions of grief, of sadness giving way to happiness and the bliss of new life. And she wouldn't deny herself the reactions her soul deserved. In time, they say, things will always heal. And that was always true. Time, the healer of all things, but also the bringer of change.

Focus, yes. Focus on the future, on the 'one day' that was bound to come. She wasn't one to believe in fate, to believe in destiny. It was a romantic notion; one at some time she thought existed. But the truth was that we made our own fate, our own destiny. We must fight for what we deserve, fight for what is right. There was always something to fight for. So she focused on that as the music finally dulled back into silence.

A glance at her written piece; she would try again later. For now she slipped gracefully from the room and into her own private space; the click of the door behind her before silence, once again, filled the empty cottage.
 
Natasha Bedingfield - Unwritten

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, yeah, yeah
 
A quote to remember...

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambition. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel, that you too, can become great.
- Mark Twain
 
Perfect quote Shy!

*steals it for her Quote of the Day thread *

Thanks:rose:

I was joking of course *runs off to find her own quote.*
 
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We all have our long roads
Filled with hills, holes, and nails
Some roads are smooth
Some are sundered and sun baked
When you can't take another step
Remember one thing

Each road has an end
At the end of this road
I will be waiting for you
My dear friend.
 
Thank you FD. You are a true wordsmith. Thank you, thank you, thank you. :rose:


Firmhanded_Daddy said:
We all have our long roads
Filled with hills, holes, and nails
Some roads are smooth
Some are sundered and sun baked
When you can't take another step
Remember one thing

Each road has an end
At the end of this road
I will be waiting for you
My dear friend.
Click to expand...
 
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