@Aqua: I love it ;u;
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Ah, this switches between poetry and regular writing, but it all flows, so read it all... Normally; don't read the poems first/etc.
xxxthe "lavender dove" / the lonely author
{
sorry baby doll, he's too busy writing of your tragedy }
Her large, wandering eyes were oval shaped and they traveled across the bark of the trees. Her pert feet and acute ears worked in harmony, careful not to snap any unsuspecting leaves. She licked her lips in anticipation, brows set towards a small cottage, brain working in overdrive; the list goes on, her body was frazzled, her heart stomping.
Her mind shuffled across differing thoughts, even stopping on the spilt milk issue, and she smacked herself.
"Get back on track, self," she muttered complacently. Her brain was never cut out for one thought or one ideal, or action, or anything; she always was thinking of different things, different stories and sayings and everything, really. There was nary a break for her tired, young mind. Her tiny, lavender hands gripped the tree bark as she began to climb, inch by inch, up her looking tree.
with eyes gaped about the horizon,
she sighed again, focusing on her cottage
there was not a single thing about it she enjoyed
but there she would soon be employed
and whether she knew it or not,
whether it made her feel distraught,
it would not be a happy time- nor,
nor would it be sublime
so her feet crept and whispered along the river banks
until she could breathe in the scent of the man
the man who sat alone and whose tears ran
for all his life he had condemned himself inside
he had not looked far, nor wide, all his life he tried to hide
from the world, but all he did was write for it
she watched him now
clicking and clicking
scribbling and scribbling
but his eyes turn and they lock on her, go wide, now they've seen her
now they've seen part of the worldHer lips puckered immediately; he rubbed his eyes, and muttered to himself about getting more sleep. He blinked a few times and discharged her as a hallucination before returning to his work with fervor.
"Hello?" She spoke very slowly and it was drawn out; she wasn't really good at the human language yet, or whatever one she had learned by the hand of her mother. She pressed her muted palms to the glass and smiled as sweetly as she could despite being hideously fatigued.
He turned now, face worn from overworking his imagination; he had large bags under his eyes and tight lips. She assumed he was much younger than he appeared to be, perhaps even in his twenties, though he appeared as forty in human years. But there was a certain air about him that displayed youth, and she knew that surely, he was not so old.
Only someone so young would reject the earth so wholesomely, as they have not had a chance to experience all of it yet.
"I am not hum--human, but I come to seek friendship with you, you are human, yes, human?" She was unsure of what words to use, what words channeled what emotions with them.
He stood up and yes, he was certainly much younger than he appeared. "Hi. What are you, then, a nymph?" He chuckled lightly. "I'm not stupid, little girl, and I won't be having any jokes, alright?"
her face dropped and a tear did too
and then he sat back down and motioned for her to shoo
but it wasn't over yet and she wasn't to let go
for she was only a weak little doe,
a little shameful mistake, exiled for sins,
exiled for all of the above for the things she has yet not done
the prophecies depict her as terrible,
but the writer depicts her as incredible
he is just yet to realize that she's the one he's been dreaming of
having visions of in the sand and in the stars
that she's the one who he's locked himself up for
that she's the one who will open his mental door
--that she's the one who he's written stories of,
a petite purple dove,
the one who only he will love? 
Koiyote xx Koda 
