Dear Daddy Longs Legs,
I grew up with a pen and a paper. I’ve always had one. (except when im too lazy. ha!) I’ve had different notebooks where I’d jot down random things, mostly in the middle of the night where instantly my imagination is very active.
Last night, I went through all the notebooks I have with me here in the city. It was hilarious how my writings changed from one page to another. Most of the essays I made are about love and life. If you want to read them, then I’d have to kill you. 🙂
But, here is something that I wrote one summer ago that I’m proud of.
One cold evening, when the sea peacefully running by the shore, the sound of frogs romantically croaking by the riverbanks and the birds decently chirping on the trees by the Lover’s Lane. He grasp her body tight as the wind is swinging around them. She stunned, and her long and curly golden brunette hair lay behind her and some pieces were settled on his masculine arms. Her hands nervously sat beside her and soon her arms were around him. His fingers ran towards her back, looked at her deep-setted eyes. He gently touched her hair with his soft hands. Everything happened so fast, the next thing she knew, his lips were gently brushing against hers. She can feel the perfect curved smile sketched on his lips. This was what she wanted, but she was wrong. All those wishes she made on each falling star she saw was what she never wanted. Everything seemed so wrong. She pushed him away, and stared at him without saying a word. ”I’m Sorry.” said he. Sorry will not make everything okay. She left him in the streets of loneliness and the dark meadow of misery. And that was the last time he ever saw her.
— The Sound of the Wind by Katrina Labra
‘Til next time,