....a living room, where the only living is done through music....

The voice of my childhood- telling me to stop, to stay awhile and play. Watching sadly as i move on, i glance behind me to see it wave. Crying to pick up a ball, to imagine a new play world. What can i do but press ever forward? i can't stop- something i can't see behind me pushes me, urging me to move faster and faster. The crying is getting weaker, but i still hear it. And i can see the small chld huddled, lonely and waiting for its playmate to return. only wanting but a few moments... Every step i take brings me farther away. It becomes harder, more impossible to ever go back. The time will come when the child will disappear forever as i cross into the pressing cold world of adulthood.

The graphics on this page belong to Elizabeth Mitchell, copyright April 1999, and were created especially for The Keep of The Dreaming. Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate: In other words, do not borrow (re: STEAL) without permission. That's what we call illegal, boys and girls.