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the deep magic.
Dec. 11th, 2005 04:02 amdear c. s. lewis,
it is four o'clock in the morning, but i absolutely must thank you right now, as i probably should on any day on which i manage to accomplish anything worth doing at all. you see, when i was small i read some of your books. it should be noted that i am not very good. in fact, most of the time i'm not convinced that i'm worth the stains i'd leave were i to shuck off this shell. but i think you had a hand in the parts of me that are good.
there are things that find a centre in me; there are things that move me: things like bravery, and loyalty, and family, and wonder, and hope. and i suspect that you put them there. i suspect that it was you who made me know what they were worth. not to mention the other things you taught me, like that one should always clean one's sword, and that boys have maps and compasses in their heads, but girls do not, and that i'd like to be one of the ones who knew which way west was, whatever that made me.
c. s. lewis, there is a wardrobe in my heart, and in the wardrobe there is a wood, and in the wood there is a lamppost, and near the lamppost there is a fawn. and there is a wardrobe in my bedroom, too. i have it because i need it close, because one day i still hope it will let me through. i think that it is the world you made that i am feeling whenever i begin to feel that i am home. thank you so very much for the kingdom you hid in my heart.
yours forever,
jack
dear tilda swinton,
all i really want out of life is for you hit me, and occasionally feed me terrible candy, and force me to live in fear of being turned to stone. do you remember the time that you fought peter, and you barely had to move while he crashed and flailed against you, because you are cold and deliberate and tall? i am in love with you. please bruise my face and split my lip and tie me to trees. thank you.
yours when you'll have me,
jack
dear the director,
you gave the wolves american accents! you are a clever thing. nicely done. (everything else was perfect, too.)
impressed,
jack
it is four o'clock in the morning, but i absolutely must thank you right now, as i probably should on any day on which i manage to accomplish anything worth doing at all. you see, when i was small i read some of your books. it should be noted that i am not very good. in fact, most of the time i'm not convinced that i'm worth the stains i'd leave were i to shuck off this shell. but i think you had a hand in the parts of me that are good.
there are things that find a centre in me; there are things that move me: things like bravery, and loyalty, and family, and wonder, and hope. and i suspect that you put them there. i suspect that it was you who made me know what they were worth. not to mention the other things you taught me, like that one should always clean one's sword, and that boys have maps and compasses in their heads, but girls do not, and that i'd like to be one of the ones who knew which way west was, whatever that made me.
c. s. lewis, there is a wardrobe in my heart, and in the wardrobe there is a wood, and in the wood there is a lamppost, and near the lamppost there is a fawn. and there is a wardrobe in my bedroom, too. i have it because i need it close, because one day i still hope it will let me through. i think that it is the world you made that i am feeling whenever i begin to feel that i am home. thank you so very much for the kingdom you hid in my heart.
yours forever,
jack
dear tilda swinton,
all i really want out of life is for you hit me, and occasionally feed me terrible candy, and force me to live in fear of being turned to stone. do you remember the time that you fought peter, and you barely had to move while he crashed and flailed against you, because you are cold and deliberate and tall? i am in love with you. please bruise my face and split my lip and tie me to trees. thank you.
yours when you'll have me,
jack
dear the director,
you gave the wolves american accents! you are a clever thing. nicely done. (everything else was perfect, too.)
impressed,
jack