A prose
Dear Santa Claus,
This year I want celestial jewelry, a Anakin Skywalker graphic T-shirt, a young Elrond poster, a Master Yoda Lightsaber and a new lifetime I can look forward to.
I want to meet a British man- television will no longer do, I want to wear pink lipstick with black liquid eyeliner and wear temporary tattoos with a long dress and short black boots. I want to write a short story that will be published in Vanity Fair, read signs of divination and betrothed to the man I wrote about On her Wedding Day, Rithanya wrote under the stars on the New Moon.
She was ready to start a new life after grieving the things she no longer needed that was in the past one.
She folds the beautifully illustrated paper with snowy background and flying reindeers in the night sky into a red envelope and burned it with a candle lit fire nearby.
Time was spent as the fire slowly gained speed and burned Rithanya’s letter to the finest ashes, she opened her window for a bit and the cold night air carried her letter’s ashes towards the direction of the moon. The moment the tiniest asked touched the moon’s light, a man of mysterious origin is suddenly awaken by a cold air that felt like a hot jolt.
Restlessness is all he feels now yet his is constantly occupied by a thought, a feeling that belongs elsewhere. He never senses this confusions before yet it was always with him even though his number of successes. Ye, he was a fortunate man and never lonely but why this confusion?
He was happy where he was in life and yet he was ready for something a little more. he does not know it but he feels as though his searching stopped.
Every man knows when destiny comes and he was not anything but am an of his own claim and although he achieved much of his abundance, sought out new adventure constantly, he felt the unknown of this confusion lies far beyond the world he knows, its out there that a confusion is shaped into a distance face.
