MyFursona.com

About

There is a garden I like to visit. In this garden there is a statue. It's a beautiful garden with stone walls that the ivy would cling to. Branches from powerful oak trees would loom over the walls and ivy, letting sunlight pour off its leaves into the garden. It had soft green grass I could lie on, and not itch. There was a fountain of water in the middle, where the statue stands. I liked to sit in the shadow of the statue and listen to the water trickle, and watch the trees sway in the wind. It's a little overgrown now, the leaves have fallen for the season, and they lie scattered among the blades of grass. The water still gurgles a familiar tranquility, but the water has become a bit brackish.
I stand in the shadow of the statue once again. It's a statue of some kind of angel, I think to myself, something that just can't exist in this world. My eyes pass over it longingly, and I extend my hand out to touch it. I notice tiny cracks have begun to surface. Dirt and moss cling to some of the tiny crevices. It's a beautiful statue; truly. It has its flaws, no one's perfect after all, but that makes it just a little bit more beautiful to me. I close my eyes and my hand gently meets the once highly polished stone. It's become a bit coarse over the long years of neglect.
Now and then I can see her dancing in my mind; carefree like the wind. There is no music, there is no room, there is just her, and life. It makes me want to dance too. My toes tick to silent music that beats in my heart. I open my eyes and look up into the face of the statue. Sometimes I find myself wishing I could bring others to this garden. Sometimes I find myself here, crying for reasons I can't explain. Sometimes, I wish I could see through her eyes.
My heart tugs at the edges of my lips, and a small smile is released. It's strange, for a fleeting moment, I feel at home. I'm all alone inside myself, but so complete. My hand glides over the stone as I stroke the wing fondly. I turn my gaze away from the statue, and the soft light pouring down past the autumn leaves. My feet know it is time to go. They guide me out knowingly on the worn path. Behind me, in the garden with the statue, the trees sway. I sway my hand in return.

I like

Writing. Poetry. Techonology. Chatting. Games. Chess. Theology. Philosophy. Stuff like that.

I listen

To most everything; always in search of satori.

I watch

Lots of stuff? Anime to... regular movies? I really like Miyazaki's work. Really, I watch anything but much T.V.

I play

Mabinogi, WoW, SL, Maplestory, Gunbound, and a whole ton more that i just can't remember.

I read

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