We are not always what we seem, and almost never what we dream.

I am more afraid of the creature called Time than anything else. There is no beast more immortal or powerful than Time, and it cannot be stopped. Not ever. I am approaching a birthday next week, one which I should be excited about. Alas, Time has noticed and growled a warning at me from afar.

I have been contemplating this phrase from one of my favourite novels, Peter S. Beagle's Last Unicorn. It is part of a conversation that one of the protagonists has with a human skull, guarding the Grandfather clock in the great hall. I have an Osteology exam next week, and so I have been fondling many human skulls the past few days. I cannot help but think of the flesh that once clung to those bones, and wonder what they would say to me.

"When I was alive, I believed--as you do--that time was at least as real and solid as myself, and probably more so. I said 'one o'clock' as though I could see it, and 'Monday' as though I could find it on the map; and I let myself be hurried along from minute to minute, day to day, year to year, as though I were actually moving from one place to another. Like everyone else, I lived in a house bricked up with seconds and minutes, weekends and New Year's Days, and I never went outside until I died, because there was no other door. Now I know that I could have walked through the walls." Peter S. Beagle - The Last Unicorn.

The love that doesn't need to live and doesn't need to die

I stood and watched these delicious lovers in December, dancing by the Thames. 

They made me smile.

Vanilla Flavoured Silence

I don't know him very well, but I know that laugh. He throws his head back and laughs in that way that means everything and nothing. He smiles, which means a little more and a little less. I try to smile too, then repeat my question - "will I ever see you again?". More laughter, then silence. I understand.

I suspect that for his escape, he took advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds

I love to take pictures of birds. Mankind has always wished it could fly. I wish I could fly.

I dreamed I was a werewolf.

Negative space is the most wonderful negative thing there is. Pictures. Stories. Spirits. Hiding.

Still searching for my father's daughter.

I love this picture of my father and step brother. It was taken on the banks of the Thames, and I feel so sure of whoever I am when I see it. It's not at all tangible, but there's a misty idea, a concept of the family name, blood, mystery and adventure. A kind of mission, a 'something' which needs doing.

"My lady," he said, "I am a hero. It is a trade, no more, like weaving or brewing, and like them it has its own tricks and knacks and small arts. There are ways of perceiving witches, and knowing of poison streams; there are certain weak spots that all dragons tend to have, and certain riddles that hooded strangers tend to set you. But the true secret in being a hero lies in knowing the order of things. The swineherd cannot already be wed to the princess when he embarks on his adventures, nor can the boy knock on the witch's door when she is already away on vacation. The wicked uncle cannot be found out and foiled before he does something wicked. Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story."

And thus, the happy ending is so clearly there, but we are only in the middle of our stories. I have found some of the characters which will define the adventure, the cheshire cats which will smile and point me in the right direction, the foxes to tame and befriend. The chapter titles are written on the first pages, ready to be perused. There is the sense of an end, and an answer, which is a bittersweet relief. Like any good book it will be sad to turn the last page, but oh! How delicious it would be if you had uncovered the mysteries. 

Equally though, this sort of thing is always followed by a beautiful paradox. 

"There are no happy endings, because nothing ever really ends" Shmendrick 

- All quotes Peter S. Beagle - A hero if there ever was one.

If today we converse and tomorrow I am fond of you...

No Sir, I am terribly sorry but I cannot talk to you, you do not look at all like the picture I glued in my Dreams Scrapbook.

Yes, that's what I said - my Dreams Scrapbook - I have it here, Sir. Well, of course, I carry it with me always. I mustn't forget my dreams, you see - or I might end up lonely or poor or live in an ugly house, with a horrid husband. ... Yes, it is very pretty - I was very fond of unicorns when I made this scrapbook. My big sister gave me those stickers for my 11th birthday, and I made this scrapbook the very next day. ... Well, yes. I suppose it is a bit battered, but I have had this scrapbook for a very long time. No you can't look at it! It's secret! See - there on the cover - it says "My Secrete Book". ... What? Well I... I don't know why I added an extra 'E' on 'secret'. I suppose I thought it was spelled that way. Please go away. I don't want to talk to you anymore, Sir.

I have already told you why. Silly boy, you know quite well why! You are NOT in my Scrapbook!

Of course it's importance - it is a matter of great consequence! ... because, Sir, if today we converse and tomorrow I am fond of you and the following day we kiss and the next day we dance in the rain and finally we are married, then my dream scrapbook isn't going to be worth very much is it? I will have wasted that whole afternoon! And all those pretty stickers! Yes, it's going to look pretty silly - isn't it? So, I'm not talking to you anymore.

What's in my scrapbook you ask? Fine! Look, here! See? There's the picture - he doesn't look a thing like you - does he? He's quite handsome, and... oh no, I haven't got a clue who he is. I found him in a magazine. Yes, his hair is a bit 80's... What? You can't say that about him! He's my future husband! See, I wrote underneath - 'husbund - Chris'. No, I can't remember why his name was Chris - it's not important. It's just so that I remember he has to have a nice, normal name. Well, it's not your name is it? Hah! I knew it - your name isn't Chris - it's not even normal sounding at all. Besides, you're so grubby and your clothes are old and you look like you haven't got any money at all... do you? No, I didn't think so - how on earth do you expect to be able to afford our big house? See - there's the picture of our big house... yes, it is very grand indeed. Yes, I chose that picture myself - it's in the country though, it that picture. In real life we shall live by the seaside.

What? Oh, that picture - that's me! See - 'Wife - Me!'. Yes, I spelled that correctly. I know, I know - I was a very clever 11 year old. Why is am blonde in this picture? Well, it's not really me - it's what I'm supposed to look like when I get married. See, she's got such lovely blonde hair, and blue eyes and perfect skin and she looks so young and happy. Well no, I do not look like that now. Thank you for pointing that out, Sir. But I'm not married yet, so I couldn't possibly look like that - see it says 'Wife'. So there. I'll be rich and I'll get contact lenses and a nice hairdresser who I can talk to about my wonderful children. See, there's the pictures of them - my future children. I have two of course, a boy and a girl. The boy will be older so he can protect his little sister at school. I don't care if you have a little sister Sir, I'm not talking to you. I shan't ever meet her shall I - you and I are not friends, and we are most certainly not married.

See, there! There's another reason I simply cannot speak to you. Our children wouldn't be pretty at all! I have to fall in love with the man in the picture in my Scrapbook - he is tall, and devilishly handsome, with blue eyes. And look! Our Scrapbook children are tall with my dark hair and his beautiful blue eyes. Your eyes are brown Sir. Brown is such an awfully common colour. Yes, I know my eyes are brown - but we've been through this - I need to marry a blue eyed gentleman, so that our children may have beautiful blue eyes.

No, I can't make exceptions. This is the way it must be. Yes, I'm sure you're a very nice person, you seem like a very nice person. Yes, it was my sticky 11 year old fingers that found those pictures and glued them down, and there's a smidgen of chocolate cake stuck to his face, but I knew exactly what I wanted. No Sir, you are not in my scrapbook.