Once upon a night lit by oil lamps and candle light, an amber glowing memory of a tale my grandma wove and spun, with threads of magic and wonderment...
The rest will be left untold, forgotten or maybe hidden, in the folds of once upon a memory from my child hood, where a tale is waiting to be remembered,
waiting to be retold...
A tale of a very strange enchanted prince, locked within a magical suite, made of logs and wood...
with two holes to see the world, unable to touch unable to hold
The rest will be left untold, forgotten or maybe hidden, in the folds of once upon a memory from my child hood, where a tale is waiting to be remembered,
waiting to be retold...
this oddity, strangeness, wonder
none but khsuhushban himself.
"Stories you read when you're at the right age never quite leave you. You may forget who wrote them or what the story was called. Sometimes you'll forget the precisely what happened, but if the story touches you it will stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever csur." ~Neil Gaiman
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