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The light descends from a point in the twilight sky, upon a figure. Blond hair framed a pale face and is tied back with a silver ribbon. The porcelain flower was folded, all time seeming to be frozen in this fetal stage of life. Finally. Movement. She stretches up toward the light and as her hands reach toward the source of heavenly warmth the sky explodes with brilliant and dazzling shades of blue and purple. Light glistens off of the snow that steadily falls, the pale blue petals of the young flower opening as she spins low to touch the frozen ground beneath her. Once again she straightens, her finger tips lightly grazing portraits of noted figures of music. Pushing and pulling them lightly crossed the fluid-like air that is her realm of existence.

Ripples show the trails of the moving memories. Picture after picture, the music continues playing like a music box. She tilts forward, gliding crossed her frozen stage with grace. Her eyes open suddenly with a brighter ray of light, a smile adorning her young flush face. This rose of winter and Princess of Ice moves the memories of my mind with ease. Oh how I want to be that flower, so free and yet so quietly taking a meaning. How it would feel to be but just... a memory.

A memory of what has been, a memory of what I could have been. But Oh! I want to flow free as water and grown beautifully as a rose. To tint my cheeks with a shade so endearing to show how lucky one may make me feel inside. Lucky to be not but a memory. No, not a memory, but a living breathing entity in which he can share all his eternity. To share it with me; the rose upon the grave. The silently yearning but never concerning myself enough to say this isn't fair. Though the distance is large and the funds for such trip is short, the word love can carry so much meaning in a heart even at a distance. Oh, porcelain rose upon a frozen stage how does it feel to move? How does it feel to glide with no bounds crossed an open stage? How I want to be like you a memory or a dream to move wistfully and care free. But to be that I would surely not be here and I would not give up a life of limits for that of your unlimited freedom for even the world. But do pray tell young rose, how does it feel to be but oh just a memory...