Date a Girl Who Reads: Rosemarie Urquico

I didn't write this, it's actually a pretty well known peice throughout the internet. I found it on Shelfari, and absolutely Fell in love with it. IT applies to my life so perfectly. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Date a Girl Who Reads
Rosemarie Urquico

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Time is Ticking

Another old picture prompt that I've uncovered in the ruins :)
I really love this one...intendd to be read like a conversation at first, but then a poem.

Show me the way, dear.
I'm lost.
Why?
took the wrong road.
could you see?
i was blind.
can i guide you?
hands are full, dear.
can i carry that?
no one can.
is it heavy?
more so with each tick.
tick?
and tock.
tell me, ma'am, what do you hold?
everything.
and everything has blinded you?
everything has killed me.
is it life, under there?
it's death under here.
is it hate under there?
its a little love under here.
does it burn? under there?
it's so cold under here.
again, ma'am, can i help?
if you must.
but how?
just slow down.
but i have to move forward.
you're killing me with every step.
should i take a step backward?
that's worse.
what, then?
stay still.

ma'am, what is it you hold?
its the world i hold.
is it heavy?
to me.
is it light?
to you.
can i see it?
on the wall.
does it sing?
it ticks.
is it time?
it's time.
can i hold it?
you can't.
may i try?
you're not strong enough.
i will hold out my arms, and i'll use all my might.
your might can't bear the burden, dear.
you said it was light, to me.
but light is relative.
either way, i am strong. i can hold it.
you cannot. its more than you.
more than me?
more than us.
more than us?
more than everything you've ever known, dear.
now hush.
yes, hush.
while i tell you a story.

When time was a child
when Eden was green
i could carry this with me.
and it was so easy.
so easy.
i could toss it
turn it
and it would always come back.
back to my waiting hands.
but one day, when i was small
i threw time too far
and time was too weak to rebound.
i searched for it, that part of this
but time had run away.
into the sky, my heart flew up
and upon it a new face was born.
it was white, it was black
it was numbers and scars
and as the sun dove, it started to sing.
tick tock
tick tock
tick tock went the world,
you're running out of me.
and no matter how far, how far i reached
time was always just one step ahead.
and now, i carry the ghost of the world
of the world where all was serene.
i carry a picture
a poem
a song
a portrait of what could have been
had i slowed down and not moved too fast.
i carry the shred of the peace we aim
the peace i threw to the stars.
you blame your misfortune on nature and science
but I, i blame it on me.
for i am the hands that hold your hearts,
the hands that make your spirits shrink.
i'm the fingers that clutch you, when time's running out
and i tell you to hurry, hurry on.
and i lie, i lie to you, because i want you to slow
the movement is tearing me down.
and as your feet run faster, my heart, it beats slower
tick
tock....
tick
tock...
tick tock.

and its heavy under here, where my heart should be.
its heavy, the burden's i'm blessed.
and no matter how strong, how brave you may be,
you will never be just strong enough.
so close your eyes
close your waiting arms.
i've nothing to give you today, dear.
but next time you move, so fast as to run
just remember these hands
these hands hanging on
to everything time's laughing down at.
they hang on to follies your nimble hearts scoff
and when yours weak, they only grow stronger.
because no matter how brave
no matter how strong
time is a burden
untouched.

Sit Down Beside Me

Wrote this a while back, as a YWG picture prompt. It really means a lot to me...I think if you read into it, you'll see yourself here, too.

Sit Down Beside Me

Here we go.
let's sing, while i tell you about a time when all was right.
a face in the mirror, looking back, knowing all...
just a reflection.

the face, outside of her
unknowing, and lost.
thought she knew it all, thought all was calm.
she was wrong, all was waiting.

all, is what we call everything.

everything we have.
everything we know.
everything we are

and i'm nothing, nothing but an empty face, in an empty soul....
standing beside an empty chair.

before i lost my all, i would speak to that face in the mirror.
i would sing to her, raise my voice. let it ring.
and she always sang back.

high cheekbones.
gone.
sparkling eyes her daddy praised.
gone.
pink lips that boy across the street once carressed.
missing.

and so i can no longer sing, to the face in the mirror.
i can no longer hear the sound.
i can no longer watch as she studies me...
wish this would change...wish this was different...

pieces that are left of my all, they're not beautiful enough to survive without you.
not beautiful enough....
not giving their All.
because they've lost it all.

and so i wait beside this empty chair, in the middle of the road where i left you behind.
and i sing a new kind of song, a wordless song, that is louder than you will ever comprehend.
and between the ringing verses, i pray to a forgotten savior, that you'll hear me.
i miss my all.
miss everything i am...
was.

when i threw it all away, just like everyone else.

beneath this generation, there sits a big, gray box.
rummage around, see what you like.
it's got everything we got rid of. what we say we detest.
i want that back, please. that belongs to me.

and so i dig around, and i pry through the missing pieces of everything.
but i can't find a single thing, that ever belonged to me.
just me.
not her.
not them.
because all i ever had, i threw away.

like an old pair of socks.

like a rotting apple.

like the face they said was not beautiful enough.

and so,
here we go.
let's sing.
and i'll breathe into you the story of one faceless girl among millions, who threw herself away.
the others whispered her name in scorn, not seeing anything but invisible perfection.
invisible disgrace.
because this faceless girl was once very beautiful, and very full.
but her hungry heart once told a lie, to the being to whom it mattered most,
the face in the mirror.

and now, she stands alone, in the middle of the road where she threw it all away.
she grasps the back of a rusting chair in her haggard fingers.
and she tries, now, with her all
with her everything she's got left...
to tell the truth, to the face she lied to.
in hopes that someday, it'll come back.
come back to this chair,
and
sit down beside me, please.
I miss my all.
miss everything i was.

come sit down beside me.
i'll sing again.
i'll show them, that i'm perfect, just the way i was.
i won't need this big gray box.
but i'll need your help climbing out of it.
it's a big box, understand.

and together, me and my everything can sit down in this chair.
sit beside me.
and we'll sing a new kind of song.
one that will carry us out of this.
to a new path, not the middle of the road.
a path where we will find, and not loose.
and i'll never let go of this.
not ever again.
i'd miss my all.
everything i am.
gonna sing now.
sing along, my heart, if you hear me.

so,
here we go...

Top of His List

I was digging through a bunch of my older stuff, and found this.

it was september fourth, 1920.
the sky was the shade of blue that was almost gray, the air around us seeming to be filled with a dusty smoke, making everything seem a little dirty, a little worn. a little tired.
like the people beneath it.
we were all a little tired, when you thought about it.
all except for me. i was restless, i was young, i was proud...i was lost.
like all children do at some point in their lives, i'd ran a little too far away from home.
it was just a game, i like to say.
and momma's voice, scared and crying out for me...
just made the race more real, more exciting.
i'll be home by dinner, ma!
but i wouldn't.
i should've said goodbye.

i was just eleven years old. i was young, i was lost, i was confused.....
and i didn't know where i was.
i'd lost my path.
i'd lost my trail.
i couldn't hear momma's voice anymore...though she was still screaming for me.
miles and miles away.
and she'd still be screaming, up until the day when her time came, too, and she saw me again.

you see, Jesus had been watching out for me, my whole life. i was a good little girl, always helped momma with the dishes, always fed the animals with Daddy, even when he didn't ask. i tried not to fight with my two older brothers, and i did my best at school.

but the lord has a big book, said the reverend Markus one day at church, and in that book, he makes a very long list. all of our names are on that list, he said, scribbled down in the lord's ancient hand. some of us are closer to the top, he admonished, so we better be careful.
but i don't think we can change where our names are on that list.
i don't think good behavior, vigilant eyes, have anything to do with the order he puts us in.
and no matter how well behaved i was, no matter how kind, how smart i was, i would always be at the top of that list, farther to the top than my friends and my family, farther to the top than a little girl should have to be.
and i couldn't change that, for it was the lord's will.

so i laugh as i amble towards the river. i didn't know Jesus was watching me closely...
i didn't know i'd never come back out.

it was just a game. just a game...
and the farther i pushed on, the more fun it became.

"don't worry!" momma laughed, as she fastened the vest tighter around my chest. "with this on, not even your neck will have the chance to go under. you're perfectly safe, sweet pea."
i wasn't so sure. "but, momma, if i drown--"
"you won't drown, honey. hush!"
"but momma if i did! would you catch me, momma?"
and she leaned down and kissed my forehead, staining my white skin with rose petal lipstick.
"I'll catch you."

i smile as i remove my shoes and socks, not bothering with my dress. its dirty already, like everything on the farm. it could use a nice wash.
at first, its all fresh. it's all sweet. it's all cool.
it's a rush.
it's a song.
it's...

it's a crash.
and i'm spiraling down.
down.
farther down...

will you catch me, momma? will you catch me!?

my dress is spinning.
my feet are caught.
my hair is tangled and..
im so far from home.

"where's my little girl!? where is she!?!?" but no one hears my momma's voice. no one's listening. "she'll be back, honey. come on, let's eat. she knows her way home." but Daddy's wrong.
i'm so lost.
i'm so lost!
but momma can't hear me, so she sits down at the table, and she eats the tasteless meal she made herself...but all she sees is my dinner plate next to hers.
full and untouched.
still hot.
but getting cold.
and i won't have the chance to eat it before bed tonight.

my eyes open, one last time, and i pray to the lord above.
"tell me, Jesus, is this my time? am i at the top of your list?"
but i hear no answer.
i see no proof.
all i see is blackness, another wave, another crash...
and i see a puff of air escape my lungs, a burst, an explosion..
and my momma isn't here to catch me
so i fall
and i drown
and i'm lost.

and i'll never find my way home again.
and i'll never eat the dinner momma made for me.
and i'll never
i'll never live again...

"goodbye momma, goodbye daddy...

and now i lay me down to sleep
i pray the lord my soul to keep.
and if i die before i wake
i pray for God my soul to take.

...and Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
When in the morning light I wake,
Teach me the path of love to take.

and now i lay
me down
to sleep.
i pray the lord
my soul
to keep....



another word, another prayer, another verse.
maybe they'll hear me.
maybe they'll come and save me.
pull me out.
bring me back...

or maybe i'll fall deeper, and i'll only see the lord.
and so i'll sing very loud this time, because i want him to sing with me.

so now i lay me down to sleep...

and pray the lord my soul to keep...

and now there are two voices, even more, a choir of angels singing with me...

Guard me Jesus through the night...

And wake me with the morning light...



and so i take his hand, because i'm at the top of his list.

There Is Always Hope

A lot of you may remember this peice from a Young Writer's Group Picture Prompt, many months ago. I've always really loved this piece, so I decided I'd post it. Thanks!

"don't go, Sissy. don't go."
i watched as life began to flicker, as her breath saw its last glimpses of the earth. her pale skin, her bergundy hair, her pointed nose...
shattered.
sick.
missing.
lost.
wher are you going, sissy? why aren't you taking me with you?
but she only looked at me, her black eyes vacant and unseeing, her thin fingers lingering over her chest as long, maroon curls fell over her eyes, sweat forcing them to stick to her skin.
she'd die that way.
sick.
sick and unclean.
uncleansed...
i kneel beside her. i'm confused and i don't understand. where was Retta going? where was my big sister, my only companion, the only soul i trusted...where was she going?
i reach over and clutch her big hand in my small one, hanging on for dear life.
i won't let go, sissy.
won't let go.
won't let go.
But i must, sometime. that's what the doctors said, when daddy died four years ago, when i was only two.
"you'll see him again someday, little one." they always whispered, with sad, gloomy eyes, to Retta as she held me, protected me...loved me when no one else did.
but i didn't want to wait that long. want to see her now. want to see her now...
"Sissy?"
she is wrapped in a torn woolen blanket, hidden against the wall of an abandoned, graffitied building.
her eyes flutter, lost and confused as the sea of saneness drowns her in its grasp of insanity.
"don't go sissy. don't leave me here, i'm scared!"
i wanted her to respond, i wanted her to hug me close, and tell me all would be okay.
but all was ending.
all was not okay.
because she was all i ever had.
hot tears pave fresh streets down my grimy cheeks, slipping down the front of my muddy white dress.
and then
i squeeze my sisters hand
one more time
one last time
last time.
miss you, sissy.
not letting go.
love you sissy.
please don't go!
and she squeezes back, just slightly, just barely...a gossamer touch. a dream. a folly. i wish. a prayer ungranted.
and then she heals, for just a moment.
she leaves the filthy brown blanket.
she walks fnatastical streets with me, a yellow brick road.
we share the biggest lollipops.
we sing the sweetest song.
"i love you, little one." she sings as she twirls me in her arms.
she buys me a red baloon.
the shape of a heart.
on a silver string.
and i hang on to that heart.
becuase she hangs on, too.
and as it flies, we fly with it as well.
and we're flying together.
but we have to go back. we have to go back to the dirty ally, the muddy building. we have to go back to the muddy brown blanket, and the tears, and the sick.
and she has to go back. she has to go back, back to the end.
"but it was a wonderful walk we shared, little one."
and i stroke her hand, because her skin's still warm.
and i kiss her nose, before it gets cold.
and i close my eyes, because i'm not gonna watch.
i'm not gonna watch.
not gonna watch...
"i love you, little one!" she sings to me, like we're walking down a golden road.
like we're living again.
together us both.
not just me.
not just the little one.
the unimportant one.
but i love her too, so i open my eyes, just to watch hers close.
and i watch as she grasps our red baloon.
and i see her tug on the silver string.
and i hold my breath as she flies away.
because that red baloon was all i ever had.
that red baloon held me in its arms when it rained.
told me stories and sang me songs when i was scared.
she tickled my tummy when i was hungry, so the pain went away.
and there was one day, when we held little pieces of chalk in our hands.
and we printed pretty words on the walls.
There is always hope.
and there were the times when the air began to leave my baloon.
and the color started to fade.
and the edges grew thinner, and weaker, and sicker...
and then, today
it flew away.
and no matter how hard i held on, that red baloon kept going. and it reaches heights i wasn't tall enough to reach. and it told me, it told me "honey, you have to let go now. you have to let go."
and so i said goodbye, to my red heart baloon.
and i began to fall back to here and now.
and as i passed the wall we'd written on, i heard my big sissy's voice in my ear.
There's always hope, she said.
there's always hope...

Friendship is a Seasaw

This is another poem I wrote for English class, when I wrote People are Windows (below.)
Same goes for this...choppy and structured, so not my best :)
"Friendship is a Seasaw" was a provided prompt, so I wrote this about me and my best friend Lexie. When we were about twelve, we loved teeter totters, and joked about how awesome they were all the time. We had all this "inspiring" quotes about them and everything, so this prompt really stood out to me.

Thanks!



Friendship is a sea saw,
just like those simple ones
we adored so much as kids.
Then, they were nothing but plastic
mindless
time devouring enjoyment.
And the shake of all the ups, and the whirl of the downs
had us so dizzy, so dizzy, so dizzy
with the laughter of a game
we didn't really
understand.
And with every single up, we could count on just one thing
the coming, closing, demonic fall
that taunted us
from the sand beneath our feet.
And we would fall off, together
wrapped up in the blue sky
and the colors
and the laughs.
And nothing else mattered.
'cause we were together.
Forever.
But friendship, you see, is a sea saw.
And no matter how bright the mountaintop appears,
the grass will always be there below us
to catch us when we fall.
Some friends, don't last forever
some spend so long
so long
so long climbing...
that they forget about how perfect it is,
right there. Right now. On the way up.
And they rush
rush
rush and don't look back,
as the crumble to the ground again.
Because friendships are sea saws,
and sometimes, we get scared when we reach the top.
We search, with fatal efforts,
to touch our feet to the ground again.
And forget that the best of times
are those spent suspended
above everything, and everyone, who draws them down.
Friendships are sea saws,
but listen here, i've been blessed.
And I owe it all to one simple soul
who has shaped my very being,
more than you can guess.
And when i'm low, when my feet hit the bottom,
I can count on her, her reckless hands,
to fly me back up to the top.
Because friendship is a sea saw,
and no matter how low the down,
how high the up,
I think the ride is the part that matters,
and sometimes, we're all toddlers again,
and we wish the ride,
will never stop.
So, someday, when I reach the top,
I hope that you'll meet me there.
We could laugh again, dizzy and lost,
but nothing else will matter.
Because we'll have each other, and the lessons we had learned,
and we'll smile, and we'll hop back on the teeter totter,
because after all,
friend ship is a sea saw.

People Are Windows

So, I wrote this for English class a few weeks ago.
The prompts were really choppy and precise, which I definitely never excell in :) However, I love my English teacher, so I tried to make her proud. This isn't as great as I wanted it to be, but...You know. :P
Thanks!


People are windows.
We're best when open,
Though we prefer to remain closed.
We are often looked at,
stared at,
idly seen,
noticed.
But not often are our curtains
fully spread.
We hide ourselves behind gossamer veils,
We keep ourselves shut inside, when all else fails.
And countless painted faces pass us
and spot us
and see us.
Blindly, of course.
Because people are windows.
And though we're only alive when open,
we prefer to remain closed.
We're scared to lift the wooden panes too far,
in fear they'll catch a glimpse.
We're horrified of what they'll see
of what they'll discover
when we open ourselves up.
We don't want them to see past the perfect paints
the velvet drapes
the tinted glass
we've labored so long to tarnish.
And now, as I walk these streets,
as the sun bends its aching neck,
I see that people are windows.
They think they're strong, and sturdy.
They think themselves to be the supporting foundation.
But really, they're very timid.
They never open.
Always closed...
forever, the supporting factor
to a house of a mortar much greater.
But when we remove the aging bricks
collapse the doorways
conformities,
to the ground,
we see that all that's left is the windows
the glass, shattered from the wreckage.
But still most prominent, you see
because windows are glass
and glass bends light
and hope
and faith.
And as they gather round to diminish the damage,
they will see themselves, staring back at them,
like the glass has eyes,
like the windows, are alive.
Because people are windows.
And we're so, so much better when we're open.
When the sun can swim inside of us
when our hearts have voice to sing.
But we're ignorant creatures, all the same
and we think it best to stay shut.
To lock out the chances
and the spirits
and the opportunities ahead of us.
But someday, I think we're all gonna figure out
that curtains only last so long.
That someday, the panes will give out,
and we'll be forced to break.
And maybe then,
when the glass is in pieces,
someone will come by and see us,
in the form of their own painted face,
and they will know that finally,
we know ourselves.
Because, in the end,
People are windows,
and we're best when open.

Like a Runaway Train: Desiderare Domus

An excerpt of my novel in the authing, Desiderare Domus. This is an unfinished, unedited version of what will one day be the novel's climax.


~ ~ ~



The doors open, the luster of the grimy walls dancing amidst travelers and runaways, like the very light, the very hope at the end of the tunnel they so await.
There is a man, holding the hand of his lover, gazing far ahead, down the tracks, impatient.
There is a mother, careening her neck in every which way, searching for her roaming child.
There are students.
Teachers.
Artists.
Faimiles.
Photographers.
Lawyers.
Everyone wishing for an escape stands idly, the call of their refuge growing louder and louder as the time clicks on.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Amongst them, we find her.
Yes, there she is, coming through the station doors.
Her face is stained in unforgiving streaks of pink, and the blue of her eyes seem to be swimming so fast. So fast, i'm afraid, that sooner or later they may leak, and drown the girls sweet face in a swift flood of guilt, dismay, and salty tears.
Oh, I have a feeling she'd despise that. She was never one to gift her emotions to the rest of us.
Her long tangle of hair falls over her cheeks, in her eyes.
Her lip quivers, but she tells herself to steady it.
She says, in her mocking mind, "No, December. I won't let you cry. Not here. Not now."
Oh, the follies we believe in when we're young. The impractical way we assume we're actually in control of the emotions, the disgrace inside of ourselves. To be young again...
She scans the scene around her.
She cocks her head, much as she did when she was a child listening to the meaningless clicking of the clock on the wall.
Only this time, December Rose Juliet sought the passing of time in another noise: The shouts of the approaching train.
It's almost here, December.
Purchase your ticket, before it's too late.

She stumbles to the counter, her legs shaking violently beneath her as she breathlessly collpases infront of the ticketmaster.
He is old, rotund. His thinning hair is a perfect circle around the center of his scalp, and his glasses hang limpy from their perch on his crooked nose. He smiles. I smile. Does she see me?
"What'll it be, miss? The last train'll be pullin' in any second now. You're rather late, sweetheart."
"Please." She gasps. "Please."
She blows her violent black hair from her eyes, straightening her back.
"I need a---"
"One way ticket back to your heart?"
She pauses, gaining her breath.
Is she looking for me?
December, Sweety. Can you see me?
I'm so close.
Just...just grab my hand, and---
"I...listen, I just need to get out of here. You don't under----"
But as she speaks, the last train of the wasting night pulls into the terminal, smoke screaming slumsily from its mouth.
She turns back to the ticketmaster, pleading with her eyes.
"I...I just..."
"Get on the train, December." he says plainly. His eyes twinkle. His lips twitch into the faintest arch.
There we go, Sweety. You've finally found me.
Now come on.
Let's runaway.

She runs, leaping through throngs of travelers and ponderers, with eyes for nothing more than the vinyl seat she's been longing for her entire life.
I grab her hand, at the last second, and I hope. I hope she can feel it, and we run.
We run down the isles, we run down the hallways of December's little heart.
We pass innumerable seats, filled with faceless people she's been passing for as long as she can remember.
We pass a window, to our left. And even now, in the middle of the summer, snow falls outside the curtains.
December tilts her head, confused, but keeps running.
It's just snow, December. Just a snowflake. Is that alright?
We pass whole compartments filled with glassy eyed children, holding their stomachs in hunger and lust.
Do you know them, December?
Oh yes, that's right.
You're on of them.
We pass a man, weaving a basket of hemp and straw. He smiles wanly as we pass, but December closes her eyes as he approaches. Too many memories, too many nightmares.
We pass a little girl with blonde hair, staring at her comrade as he runs around the playground, playing army. and she begs him not to joke about such gravities. But he's just a kid, and he doesn't understand. He never will.
December stumbles, but i pull her right along.
Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths...
We pass a young man in a red apron, tossing flour onto a circle of dough and spices. He's laughing, because he's finally happy here, making pizzas for those with no time for themselves. He's got all the time in the world.
We pass a police officer, crumpling and uncrumpling a peice of red construction paper in his hands, a lost and yearning look on his stern face.
December stares.
too many memories, too many nightmares.
And December Rose Juliet tries to hard to turn back now.
Too many memories, Too many nightmares.
But I pull her back, because at the end of this train, there's something I think she'll want to see.
We pass a little girl, with tangled black hair, and a tearstained face. she stares at the ceiling, her fists clench, praying to God for answers. For help.
December starts to fall, too lose her footing. We've run so far....
And finally...
We come to the end of the train, and there it is.
There lies, all December has ever had.
A stolen necklace, with a snowflake charm, gleaming from the floor where it lays in a blanket of dust at her feet.
There it is, December.
There's that stupid necklace that ruined your stupid life.
The one your mother stole for you, and was taken to jail for in return.
There's the necklace that tore you away from the only life you've ever known.
The necklace that forced you into lonliness, desperation.
It's the necklace you hates so much, but deep down inside, loved so much, too. Because it was the only thing you had to remind you of your mother, and your home. the only thing that kept your heart on the right track, even when the train was crashing...crashing...
It's the only thing you had when you were taken away from your home, and plunged into Desiderare Domus, a place where, for once, you finally felt happy.
And its the same necklace you had when even Domus thrust you away.
It's the necklace you were given the last time you ever saw your mother.
It is the necklace you threw out the window of a moving train three years ago, when you were angry at the clouds, and their race.

But listen here, December Rose Juliet.
This necklace is everything.
This necklace, is the very reason your story lives on.
without this, without this piece of stolen gold, your mother would still be with you.
your life will have gone forward, as planned.
you'd be happy...but you'd be hopeless.

The race only lasts so long, baby girl.
Sooner or later, the clouds will get tired, the sky will grow still, and your feet, they'll still be running.
You won't tire, Sweetheart, because of this necklace.
This stupid necklace.
If you have it in your hand, you'll keep running. Because, even if you don't realize it, you're hoping to find something at the end of the road.
Adn with this necklace in your hand....I think you'll find it.

Take it, December.
Put it on...
Very good.
Now turn around.
Look around you.
You've won the race.

I hope you found what you were looking for.