shadowsong26 (
shadowsong26) wrote in
rainbowfic2013-08-12 04:56 pm
Bubblegum Pink #7, Summertime Blues #4
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Language
'Verse: Lux
Colors: Bubblegum Pink #7. Playground, Summertime Blues #4. Stared at by the book you've been meaning to read.
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Midsummer Night's Dream; lint roller: kay_brooke's question: Mariko, who/what do you love most?), miniature, photography, canvas (from a notebook Mariko put together when she was around nine), brush (utmost), watercolors, stain, fabric, chalk, yarn, glitter (What’s the most important thing to you?)
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Characters: Mariko
Warnings: Nope
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Last Bubblegum Pink FINALLY.
I love the feel of words on my tongue
in my hands,
in the air around me,
bursts of colored light with meaning.
More than my family that I love,
more than dancing,
more than my friends,
I love the words themselves.
I hunger for them,
for how they weave tangled webs of life,
for how everything—the whole of sentient experience--
is founded on words.
It’s not just in spoken languages, or written,
or anything else common to human experience,
but the universe of language,
heavy, through my body
through my soul.
This is the thing that I love.
Story: Language
'Verse: Lux
Colors: Bubblegum Pink #7. Playground, Summertime Blues #4. Stared at by the book you've been meaning to read.
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Midsummer Night's Dream; lint roller: kay_brooke's question: Mariko, who/what do you love most?), miniature, photography, canvas (from a notebook Mariko put together when she was around nine), brush (utmost), watercolors, stain, fabric, chalk, yarn, glitter (What’s the most important thing to you?)
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Characters: Mariko
Warnings: Nope
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Last Bubblegum Pink FINALLY.
I love the feel of words on my tongue
in my hands,
in the air around me,
bursts of colored light with meaning.
More than my family that I love,
more than dancing,
more than my friends,
I love the words themselves.
I hunger for them,
for how they weave tangled webs of life,
for how everything—the whole of sentient experience--
is founded on words.
It’s not just in spoken languages, or written,
or anything else common to human experience,
but the universe of language,
heavy, through my body
through my soul.
This is the thing that I love.

no subject
no subject