raised by crows in the wilderness.
this is my gaslight stand,
my lantern on a hilltop.
i come from the Kingdom
to unlock hearts with my stories.
i like it when worlds collide.
oh, and I misspell.
Days before my great uncle passed from Alzheimer’s, his neurologist asked him which direction was the north. He pointed at his wife, my aunt. Love is enough.
It is important,” the man in the grey suit interrupts. “Someone needs to tell those tales. When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. There’s magic in that. It’s in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift. Your sister may be able to tell the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy. Do not forget that.” He takes another sip of wine. “There are many kinds of magic, after all. Erin Morgernstern, THE NIGHT CIRCUS
May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. Neil Gaiman (via tobialexis)
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