--About me--

I'm not one to just throw out my name to strangers, so you can call me Mikasa, M, or Mika, for short. I fancy that name more than my actual name, really. I am currently writing a novel, though I doubt anyone cares about that. I'm having a little writer's block at the moment, though, so it's not going so well for me. Expositions are difficult to write and very boring and time-consuming, despite the excitement of creating individuals with their own backstories and such and sending them on adventures and treating them as though they are your children. Well, I bet you don't do that, but I do. It's like being a God, even though I don't really believe in that stuff. Well I do, but I believe there is more than one and lean more toward Norse and Greek Gods and Goddesses. I get carried away sometimes and I bet you have already stopped reading this. Oh, well. Ah, I'm also fifteen and speak many languages, but not fluently. I know some Mandarin, French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Russian. Also a bit of Latin, but that's a dead language, so...I'm an artist, too. I'm thinking about starting to take commissions, but I don't have a tablet yet.

--Dogs--

Up For Breeding
None at the moment

Up For Sale
None at the moment

--Poem--

The snowfall is so silent,
so slow,
bit by bit, with delicacy
it settles down on the earth
and covers over the fields.
The silent snow comes down
white and weightless;
snowfall makes no noise,
falls as forgetting falls,
flake after flake.
It covers the fields gently
while frost attacks them
with its sudden flashes of white;
covers everything with its pure
and silent covering;
not one thing on the ground
anywhere escapes it.
And wherever it falls it stays,
content and gay,
for snow does not slip off
as rain does,
but it stays and sinks in.
The flakes are skyflowers,
pale lilies from the clouds,
that wither on earth.
They come down blossoming
but then so quickly
they are gone;
they bloom only on the peak,
above the mountains,
and make the earth feel heavier
when they die inside.
Snow, delicate snow,
that falls with such lightness
on the head,
on the feelings,
come and cover over the sadness
that lies always in my reason.
--The Snowfall Is So Silent, Miguel de Unamuno, 1864-1936