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Changes ComeOn that hill that day, as the sun swallowed the sky whole in its warm light, she stood. The warm evening breeze playing with the long stands of her hair as the tiny butterfly hair-clip tried desperately to hold together what strands had not managed to escape its clutches. She turned her head slightly to acknowledge my presence and smiled once her eyes provided her with the proof she needed. Her smile however, wasn’t the smile that I had grown so accustomed to, it seemed more like a memory of a smile that she tried desperately to bring up. It was then, in the bright summer evening, on the hill that we used to spend all of our after-school hours in, that I realized that the girl standing in front of me was not the one with the smile that rivaled the warmth of the sun. It was then that I realized that she was broken, that her heart had been trampled on and her body used.
We sat down, back to back, under our favorite tree that had now proudly started advertising names of young and ol
That One Fleeting MomentI try to remember you time and again but my memory betrays me so easily these days. Your picture comes to me but in a hazy blur, like a dream dreamt too much. It feels like your stay in my mind has over extended itself and is slowly trying to fade away into the recesses of my mind, slowing blurring away. I can remember your hair, how softly they fell to your shoulders and that tiny butterfly hairclip that tried so hard to keep it in place. I remember you smile and how warm I felt just watching your happiness overflow onto me. I remember a lot of things, things that I know aren’t important anymore, like how the trees danced with the wind that one chilly November night. I remember that make of the car that sped by so fast it has difficult for us to see, I remember that street-dog calling out to his friends but I can’t bring up for face, in all its entirety. This is all I can do now, all I can do is write to keep that memory of you alive.
I remember that night we spent on the
To an EndI want to be part of a festival and see hope spring anew. I want to watch as the night burns into day, I want to see little babies with tired eyes wake up to the brightness of the sun. I want to watch buildings rise, from the nothingness to the monolithic beauty of human achievement. I want to listen to folk singers tell their tales of days gone by. I want to run through a field of nothing only to find life budding at the roots. I want to be something, something more than a carcass of a man, more than just the envelope to an important message. I want to be like the night lights that sparkle like diamonds on a sea of darkness, I want to be that hope that keeps a broken man running. I want to live like the jaybird that sings because it has beauty to admire. I want to be someone who inspires, more than a thought, more than an idea.
But there is no beauty for me anymore, there is no sliver-lining. There are no lights that shimmer like diamonds, no stars that shine so bright. No air that br
And Now I Think of YouI miss you more today, more now than ever, more here. Fifteen days away from you and my heart cries out for release, my mind gets fogged up and my heart threatens to break out of my ribs. I long to explore those familiar mountains on your body; follow those light marks on your skin. I want to run through your lanes, marvel at the night lights that glow like fireflies through your alleyways. I miss you, I miss your cold breath on my skin, I miss all those strangers that I’ve known, all the people that I’ve grown to love. I want to grow to love your mysterious ways again, I want to taste the spices on your tongue again, I want to grow familiar with you again. I want to savor your food, want to taste your sweet sweet breath again. I miss you more, today more than ever, here more than at home.
She smiled that familiar smile that faded with every wave I waved, her happiness glowing colder with every swing. Her eyes sing a song that my being can never forget and in a moment that
OnceOnce I thought I could rule the world. Once I thought I could grow, like the branches of a tree always seeking out the sun. Once I thought I could be anyone. I thought I could sweep the table clean, thought I would wipe the white dust off the black. Thought I could climb higher and marvel in its grandeur. Once I thought I could rise like the rays of the morning sun. Once I thought I could shine like the lights in a diamond only for the trained eye to see. Once I thought I could survive, like roots always seeking out life. Once I thought I could always find my way back home. I thought I could rise, like the smokes of cigarette long forgotten. I thought I could fall, like the rain, always on the certainty of the earth. Once I thought I could fly, without wings. Thought I could find places to hide, places to turn in the mask. Once I thought I could see for miles. Once I thought I could be, more than what I am, more than what I wanted to be. Once, I thought I could be magnificent.
Unspoken ConversationsShe rested her head on my shoulder and spoke to me that night, as the night slowly drooped into darkness and silver star-dust sprinkled itself like ambers across the cold night sky. She spoke of days gone by, of childhood lost and redreamt, of lingering love lost, of better days to be lived, of the darkness. She told me about the little sparkle in the corner of her eye, of the little fold on her cheeks everytime she smiled, of the little man with the clenched fist that ruled the chambers of her heart. She spoke of the broken-winged bird caged but singing for freedom, of the pianist with broken fingers and a masterpiece on his mind, of the little girl with bombs to be dreamt. Our souls fused into one that night, as the lonely street dog started to sing, as the lonely man with skin drooped with age sent out a heavy sigh into the emptiness of his empty room, as the lonely young boy with tear-stained cheeks cried for a mother in a sea of wolves. She told me about her fears, about the queas
A Greater SorrowYou came to me in my dream last night and my heart slowed. You were as radiant as I remember, full of life smiling a smile too big for that little mouth of yours. You weren’t doing anything special, just standing there, in a light too bright for my eyes but I didn’t look away. Even if the light burned my corneas, I wouldn’t look away. Maybe that part of me turned numb at the sight of you, the part that told me that I was in pain. The hole that my heart had learnt to skip over, the hole that had drown my life in.
There were so many things I wanted to ask, so many answers that had floated within the dark chasms of my mind that I could never be sure. I wanted to talk to you then, like we’d never spoken before. I wanted to tell you things my mind wouldn’t. I want to relearn your existence to find those hidden valleys in your body again but you never came. I ran to catch up with you, ran with every molecule of my being but you never came any closer. I pleaded w
Numb“Why are we always so numb,” she said to me, watching the trees pass by. The autumn leaves were turning and the forest floor was a carpet of forgotten greenery. She didn’t turn to me as she spoke, she just eased into those words so effortlessly. Birds sang somewhere in the distance, a tree branch creaked, dogs barked.
“I think people are so busy in their own lives, so busy finding wealth, so busy trying to be someone that we turn numb to everything else. We have nothing, nothing to complete us, nothing to feel,” she said tapping the glass separating the outside world. Fumbling around the insides of her brown leather handbag, she produced a box of cigarettes. Flicking the flint of her lighter, she inhaled long only to breathe out a cloud of grey smoke. She slightly rolled the window down and the watched the cloud find freedom. “We are always filled with anger, with hate that we need to brush with people just to feel again. Feel, even if only for a sec
MusicThat night you sang to me, your words felt like a thousand unopened love letters. I told you stories like secrets and your chords stuck just the right corners of my heart. And i missed you then like I thought i never could, in those silences in between your songs. Your images flooded these old caverns of memories in my mind. And I knew I wanted to hold you like the moon does the sea. Those stars in the emptiness of the sky hanging like promises we never kept. Like promises lost in between those oblivion folds of time. Our souls like flickering flames of light, I traced your regrets like shadows in the night. And I wrote an ending then like the full stop that soon followed your music.
your smile used to be bright. | kaneki ken
Why̴ ͢įs ̡t͠h̵e ͠wo̴r͘ld͡ ̨so̢ ̨c͞r͞uel?
"Are you worried about him?" He — Banjou, if you remember his name correctly — asks as he rests a hand on your right shoulder. You decide not to respond to him and continued to stay silent. Of course, you were worried about him. You were just about worried as everyone here in the cafe. "There's no need to be worried, though. Kaneki is a strong guy. I'm sure he'll make it. We'll save him, too. I promise." He says, trying his best to reassure you with a smile.
"Is it a promise you can keep?" You questioned, your voice mellow. "Promises are meant to be broken, you know."
"I don't break my promises." He says.
"Okay." You're not sure if you trusted him or not — because once you give someone your utmost trust, they'll betray you and throw you away. You'll be forgotten, and you'll be all alone again. Giving your trust to someone else is difficult and pa
TracksWhen I was a child, my mother took me to see the frozen carcass of a wolf hit in the winter. The train had cut the animal clean in half - it’s forelegs and head lay on one side of the tracks, it’s hindquarters on the other. It was petrified in time and perfectly preserved by ice, its mouth still curved into a startled snarl. Those tracks had scared me ever since. But they didn’t scare you. I don’t think anything did.
You held out your hand, bare feet on wooden planks and metal. Drunk on Birthday Cake Vodka (stolen from your sister), we’d tumbled into the forest in nothing but our bikinis and wandered to the tracks. You laughed and said you’d done it a thousand times, promised I’d love it.
I took your hand hesitantly. My palms were cold and sweaty - a fact which always made me self-conscious. You didn’t seem to notice as you tugged me down the twisting path. The rocks between planks stung as they poked into my feet and the metal was icy co
ConnectionsI rifle through the vinyls, letting my touch linger on each one before moving on. They all feel cold and lifeless, inhuman and unfeeling. I can sense a faint call in the base of my brain, a plea for companionship. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, trying to pinpoint where it's coming from. My hand hovers over the bin to my right before I reach in, my movements cautious. My fingers glide against a cover, and this one feels different than the others. I pull it out, sliding the case off and turning the record in my hands. It's old, and I can see the lines where its previous owner placed the needle. Some parts are denser than others where the song was played hundreds of times.
The cashier looks at me strangely when I bring it to the front, no doubt wondering why I didn't get any of the vintage, mint condition, collectible records. She asks whether I want a bag and I decline, opting to carry the vinyl close to my heart as I walk home. The sky above is grey, and I can smell an oncoming
Meal: Six (6) Maine red lobster tails
One (1) bowl of black caviar
One (1) glass of Chardonnay
One (1) scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, topped with dark chocolate ganache and a Maraschino cherry.
Comments: Garbage. I always knew rich people were full of shit.
Meal: One (1) pepperoni pizza from Little Caesar’s.
One (1) waffle cone, chocolate
Meal: One (1) bottle of Clear American, Fuji Apple flavor
Two (2) Payday candy bars.
Meal: Two (2) fried chicken legs
One (1) bowl of mashed potatoes, brown gravy
One (1) bowl of creamed corn
One (1) glass of milk
One (1) slice of peach pie
Comments: Just like Mom used to make.
Meal: One (1) bowl of tomato soup
One (1) grilled cheese
One (1) serving of spaghetti squash
One (1) Jello vanilla pudding
Meal: One (1) bowl of spaghetti
Two (2) Olive Garden breadsticks
One (1) bag of buttered popcorn, dusted with
America X Reader Emergency First Aid KitAmerica X Reader Emergency First Aid Kit
“Alright, let’s get the emergency travel kit ready”
“Do we really need it?”
“Yes we do, now let’s go through the check list”
“Fine, I’m ready”
“Alright, band aids?”
“Do we really need that?”
“Yes, now do we have it?”
“…Alfred, why are condoms on the list?”
“Cause we’ll need ‘em”
“No we won’t”
“If not then what are we supposed to do?”
“Sight see, maybe visit a few historical places”
“But I want to have sex”
“No condoms, No sex”
“What was that!?”
Hetalia x reader Prologue
The schoolbell rang throught the hallways of your school and all the doors flew open. That means one thing: A schoolday was finally over. As the doors opened everyone walked outside. Some were running happily and some were taking it slowly, including you. You walked out with your schoolbag around your shoulder and sighed in relief. You were glad that it was finally, because for you it was really boring and you couldn't wait to read some Hetalia fanfiction on your laptop. You waved your best friend goodbye with a smile and walked away with a tired smile.
You walked inside with tired (e/c) eyes and a frown on your face. You leaned against the door, looked down at the floor and sighed. You never felt so tired after school.
"Are you okay, honey?" A voice said. You looked up and saw your mom in front of you with worried (e/c) eyes. She walked over to you and put a hand on your forehead. "Hmm. No fever. But you really don't look good." she said
breathing the deepPapa isn't coming home again tonight.
He said to me over the telephone that the road is too long, and that it takes too much time for him to get from his office to mommy's place.
Last week he'd said that the streets are too dark, and that there are some things that even grown-ups are scared of.
The week before that, he'd promised me and said that he was coming, yes, definitely, but then he never showed up at all.
But maybe next week he'll come.
Yes, next week.
Julia, you really should be going to sleep.
I know, mommy. I think I'll wait by the window for a little longer.
Just in case.
Words and DreamsI create, I imagine, I write. I bring eloquent memories to life, tell stories about beautiful girls with hearts that would melt in the summer sun, talk about nature in fascination. I am a creator, I breathe life into people and plan memories like an architect constructing a complex ideological heart that beats like the ones in real life and breaks like the ones in real life. I can create eyes that curve like the beautiful eyes of newborn kittens, I can write about the warm breath of a teenage girl, I can bring back people that have already turned into ashes and blown with the wind but always in dreams.
I die, a little, every time I write. My heartbreaks every time my fingers long for the familiarity of a pencil, my eyes swell every time my mind longs for escape. Where are the people I long to create? Where are the people I spend hours of my time breathing life into? Where are the beautiful girls whose hair smells like oranges and whose eyes shine like the millions of stars in the sky?
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More