after midnight,
blue walls and
cold pencils on the desk;
deliberate motions to
ease the windowpane up quietly,
for fear of awakening others during this
golden
hour.
in the gentle silence,
just listen; a
keeper of
lost stories,
magic and mysticism,
nightmares and daydreams –
oceans of words,
pliant like sculpture clay,
quivering in sincerity and as
raw in beauty as
spring’s melodies. let them
tell a tale of the impossible –
underneath these
vast skies and
wishing stars,
xylophone lullabies and
young children’s tears, even
zinnia flowers can grow in winter.
Alice He is a rising sophomore at a boarding school in the New England area of the United States of America. She enjoys writing questionable fanfiction, daydreaming about flowers, and pondering about the trivial things in life. When she’s not typing away at her five-year-old laptop, she can most often be found sprawled on the lawn, soaking up the sunshine like a plant in need of vitamin D.