Freeform: Like rivers, streams, and estuaries...

      Fingers sliding, delicately interlacing, entwined in the feeling but never reeling, what words could there be for such smooth movements that flow like water over the roughest stone, gently peeling away jagged corners and frays until only the tenderness remains forever on the formerly unyielding face.
      Water flowing, skies glowing, stars shining in her eyes that sparkle only for me, for her, for something much more than fickle words could ever put to paper, the poet's dilemma, the writer's block, to be rounded and swept up on the ever-gentle currents.
      Together, we flow...

Scribble: Learning to paint again...

      She carefully placed her toes onto the creaking wood, feeling the gentle waves rolling just beneath. In a single breath, her hands instinctively reached in any direction that might keep her from the chill water's embrace, as her foot crashed down onto the craft.
      “It's okay,” came a familiar voice, floating atop warm laughter. “You'll get used to it, I promise...”
      Catching the softness of her companion's eyes, she let a sigh slip away from behind her lips, corners curling into the smallest of smiles. With a deep breath, her other leg fell haphazardly into the boat, as her lithe body rocked with the rhythm of the waves.
      "Told you," came the familiar voice once more, as inviting arms wrapped around the nervous seafarer. "Now, shall we get started?"
      With a nod, the lithe young girl fell into an open seat, the wood creaking under the sudden weight. Looking out across the endless blue horizon, her squinting eyes followed wings of white, as the distant cry of gulls tugged at her ears. Far above, clouds mimicked their movements, drifting along on wings larger than the sky could hold.
      "It's beautiful here," she whispered, a gentle, crisp breeze tousling her shimmering silver locks. "Thank you for bringing me out here."
      With a smile, her companion simply tilted his head, motioning to the oar hanging idly beside her. Smiling in kind, the seafarer slipped the wood between her slender hands, as the shore started to slowly slip away...

Scribble: Growth of a kind.

      Sunlight glinting off of metal latticework, the builder paused before the yet unfinished dome, still enshrouded in its steel cocoon. A fierce wind, enraged at the affront to its desolate plain, threatened to choke ancient joints and gears alike with dust from the ground. Yet, beneath a tattered cloak, the builder simply stood, a humble chuckle ringing beneath the din.
      It will take far more than that, I'm afraid, the builder thought, steadying its metal frame with an ornate iron staff. Your purpose is desolation, while mine...
      As dust settled upon the arid ground, the cocoon once more emerged from the tempest's shroud, shining all the brighter. Heavy footfalls sending dust into the air, the builder began walking toward its creation, unblinking eyes focused upon a single emblem on the dome's exposed face.
      There, carved upon a copper plaque, rose a great and powerful tree from an endless desert...

Scribble: You can blame this on "Storm Coming."

      Running atop raindrops, the sleek machine kept a single glowing eye upon the horizon, an azure star streaking across the night sky. Long, slender antennae bobbed with each footfall, as powerful legs became nothing more than a silver blur shimmering beneath the moon. Puddles exploded in the runner's wake, the comet bounding over fallen trees and stones without second thought.
      There's little time, the runner thought, leaping into the air across a small cleft in the forest floor. Hope I'm not too late...

Scribble: I've been sick lately...

      Sunlight slipped through dusty, half-open blinds, as the sounds of passing cars drifted in through the glass. Glowing copper in the dancing light, unkempt locks shifted atop the cocoon of comforters and sheets, the rest hiding beneath overstuffed pillows.
      "Plan on staying in bed all day?" chirped a quiet voice, as a pair of bright eyes searched, to no avail, for the hint of a face in all the mess.
      "When it's warmer out there than it is in here, I'll consider an alternative," came the grumbled reply, as the would-be sleeper felt her companion slide beside the mound of fabric. Rolling around to catch a pair of familiar amber orbs, she couldn't help but smile, her cheeks weakly straining at the effort. "Still sick," the would-be sleeper continued, softer than before. "Though at least it's through the rougher parts..."
      With a smile, her companion leaned forward, reaching down to run her slender fingers through the flowing copper locks. "You sound better, anyway," came the quiet voice once more, the words gently tickling the sleeper's ears. "Still, you should get up for a little bit, at least..."
      "Or..." the invalid began, a mischievous smile falling upon her face. Suddenly, her bare, tawny arms burst from her cocoon, wrapping tightly around her companion before pulling the smaller girl inside. A feigned scream filled the air, quickly overtaken by surprised laughter, as the willing captive soon found herself beneath layer after layer, auburn locks tickling her cheek.
      "You're definitely feeling better," came the chuckled, exasperated reply, as a slender hand reached out to resume a gentle pet. "I guess it is pretty nice and warm in here, too . . . though I did bring you some freshly-brewed tea..."
      "It can be reheated," replied a tired voice, slipping through the cracks in a yawn. Shifting herself once again, the would-be sleeper nuzzled deeply into her companion's chest, an arm still wrapped tightly around her captive. "Thank you, though..." she began once more, voice growing softer with each breath. "You're so sweet to me..."
      "Silly girl..." came the quiet reply, a slight flush falling upon the captive's smiling face. Hidden even in the dancing light, slumber slipped in between graceful fingers, falling between auburn locks, and gently closed a pair of eyes...

Scribble: Comma comma comma, period.

      Beneath the bright summer sun she sits, as deep azure pools stare out across the sea, the tiniest of sighs escaping from her lips. Pulling her folded legs closer, she leans back on the salt-kissed stone, stray granules of sand slipping through her fingers, and turns her gaze to the skies above.
      "Beautiful, isn't it?" comes a voice from behind, as high above, clouds drift lazily along unseen currents. "Told you it wouldn't be boring," he adds, running slender fingers through his hair.
      Turning to the tall young man behind her, she simply smiles, nodding ever slightly. With a tiny hand, she adjusts the flower in her hair, as the newcomer takes a seat beside her, careful to share as much of the perch as possible.
      "Thanks," she finally replies, the melody of her voice flowing atop the rolling waves.
      With no further words between them, they both stare skyward, one head slowly leaning against another, as lazily drifting clouds take shape, putting on a grand show...

Freeform: Wounds.

      Standing in front of a mirror, I expect to see my own reflection when, instead, cast in the pale light of some long-ago moon, there sits a small girl, curled-up with her knees to her chin. Little cuts adorn her bare arms and legs, from scars freshly opened by tiny little fingernails, as she hides her face behind her silver-white hair, flowing atop her head and down past her shoulders.
      She trembles, but is afraid to cry. I want nothing more than to reach through the glass, and in doing so, I find myself in her dark little realm, looking above to see no moon, not even a star glinting in the distance. Just darkness, the cold unfathomable, and this little wounded, trembling girl, who glows just like the moon.
      She looks up at me with eyes red with tears, and irises a shade of red between warming and hurt. I bend down, crouching despite the effort, and follow my instinct to just take her in my arms, press her tight against my chest, and not let go.
      "It's okay," I whisper, feeling her tremble. "I know you hurt . . . it's okay, I'm here now..."
      She cries, and the tears run down my cheeks, as I see with her eyes all the little cuts and scars, her only desire laid bare.
      She only ever wanted to be loved, unconditionally.
      But instead, she found only pain, only the need to hide away, to keep from ever being hurt so terribly again, even if all she ever did was to keep picking at the scabs.
      She withdraws almost as soon as the tears began, returning to her curled-up position on the ground. "It's okay," I whisper, that little smile still on my face somehow, "it takes time. And we have all the time in the world, I promise."
      She winces at the word, but somehow, she doesn't hold herself so tightly. I slip away, if only for a moment, to write these very words, knowing that they, too, are flawed, but showing her all the same, as I look back into the mirror to see my own face again, wondering, hoping that she'll be in my arms to keep, that she won't have to be alone any longer.

Scribble: Undead + Robot = this?

      Dangling between spindly, clanking fingers, the strange artifact dangled precariously from its chain, little patches of metal gleaming through the rusted links. Eyes little more than glowing green dots in pools of darkness, the skeletal figure leaned in closer to investigate, placing a free arm against bended knees for balance.
      Cold, gray flesh twisting into a contemplative frown, the detective gradually raised another metal hand, its exposed metal sinews and wires coated in a fine blanket of dust. With delicate precision, a sharp fingertip gently tapped on the ornate brass casing, sending little particles of rust into the air.
      Spinning in the air, the artifact remained otherwise static, casting little particles of rust into the air. Moments passed before, quite suddenly, the side of the strange pendant creaked open, as dust from another time swirled into the ancient air. Startled from his stillness, the detective quickly regained his balance, bringing the exposed surface closer to investigate.
      A quiet tick echoed throughout the catacombs, as the hands of the watch shifted ever so slightly, only to grow still once more. With a frown, the mechanical figure closed the creaking door, clenching the device gently in one hand.
      "I have seen this before..." he began, in a voice choked with dust and gravel. "It once . . . was mine..."

Scribble: Sometimes, you just gotta be free.

      She looks up at the sky, shimmering eyes drifting between the scattered points of light. Toes crunching on the gravel, she falls back to lean on her steed, the engine block still warm to the touch. A streak of light flashes across the sky and her tired face, as a quiet laugh slips from behind her smile.
      Somewhere in the distance, ashes of photographs and letters drift in the midnight air, carried aloft by laughter...