Magic.

By Annelise

If the world becomes too much, come and tell me. And if it will heal your hurt we’ll go far far away and leave our mark everywhere we walk.

On white sandy beaches where we let our noses burn under the sun. And people laugh watching us dance about unashamedly to music we’ve turned to the perfect level of loud.

At foggy harbors where we will cloak ourselves in mist and mystery, pretending we’re in our favorite novels and maybe reading some in a little coffee shop on the corner of the street.

Upon snowy mountains we will unearth childhood memories by building snowmen and drinking hot coco wrapped up in blankets in a big, homey lodge, asking for more marshmallows than we might ever need.

And in deep green forests we’ll marvel at the trees and maybe just be quiet, because the other’s presence puts us at peace.

Then maybe we’ll find a meadow where we will braid flower crowns, and frolic, and sing.

And everywhere we go people will wish that they could be as perfectly happy and content in themselves as we seemed to be in the briefest of moments that they got to experience the magic of us.

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