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Lilly H

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Member Since: Jul, 2007

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   Recent stories by Lilly H
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i need a title for this one
By Lilly H
Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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a story i hadn't uploaded that i thought should be shared

Words set in stone, notes set on paper, the words crack but the music lives on. If you are like he, the man that is a stone, perhaps you know better then I, the girl that is the paper how this story is to end. How it is to start is my secret to share, my journey to him was short, my escape made through an open window. The breeze leading me along, a small windy ride along the sky, not knowing then such a wind would bring me to him.
He caught me, snatched me out of the wind and placed me on the stone he sat upon. His stone face spoke to me where his mouth would not and I sang to him, reveling my notes both happy and loving. A note a, a single note, a set sound, a set feeling. To move, to change, to add another and another making my whole being more complex, more diverse. Some of me making little sense, some of me coming together to make a sound that is beautiful. I began to feel and express for him, though the expression I could show only went so far.
As for he, the stone, he, he was a beautiful stone, his face carved as precisely as a cord, bringing a loving deepness to his eyes. His smile, whimsical, but his eyes, oh God but those eyes, left my notes to melt on the page. The day came herd words, beautiful words, putting a name on such feelings I showed. He, though being a stone, had a voice like his eyes, gentle; every beautiful word he spoke etched itself on the stone block we sat upon. I had never seen such words written, just like notes on a page. Different letters as there called like different notes, making different sounds; I only able to answer with notes, high and low.
I did find that the more I was with my stone man the more my sound became put together, beautiful, finished. His words though did not stop; he spoke on, my notes coming together to form yet another finished. The melodies never stopped, his use of these words amazed me, bringing me to covet them, my selfish notes wanted words. He kept them from me, teasing me with such things like describing the feeling of my notes. I sang them louder, showing what I it was I could do; his eyes told me of his longing though his words spoke against it.
This is when a small crack showed across his body, his words were no longer what he felt, but he could not hide it from me, his eyes told me what his words would not. My notes however did not change, they still showed the feeling I had, my disappointment, my fear of loosing him to breaking. He did thought crack further, his failed tries of my notes bringing him to pain and embarrassment, he at one time thought I was at rest thought I just pianissimo(very quiet), I saw him cry, the water from the rain he kept me from.
He did cry and lie then crack, my notes saddened bringing a stone man to depression, his cracks became deeper cutting the beautiful words he once spoke. His lies did stop one day, and so did all words, he stopped. With one final crack, across his beautiful face, he never spoke again, the notes pulled together with no effort at all, such pain, such sorrow.
Then to my amazement a word set to sound, a note sung connected to a word from my stone, our stone. More and more every word passed by his lips of eyes, then a word of my own, a new word to my page, then a voice, not just a note but many notes contained tin a word. The complexity of my page growing where he had died.
I suppose my selfish notes had there way, my songs forming before his cracked face, his words becoming my own. My beauty and feelings where he, though stained lipped and lying was dead before me, the feeling and words I so wished him to hear went into his hollow heat and faded. Not even my love as itís called brought him back to me, his beautiful stone face cracked and died where my song will live on.†


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