GoodbyeHey Everyone !Goodbye7 hours ago in Personal More Like This
Because everything have to end and things will be forgotten......
Goodbye , i love you all ♡
JUST KIDDING. HA ! I CAN SEE YOUR FACE BEHIND THE SCREEN
Well here the real thing :
I'm going to vacations with my family , i say goodbye to you all but i will return the 6
th of april ~
I wanted to finish my least commission and trade but i really don't have the time because i have to do all the packages and stuffs (I'm super tired). Where i go they doesn't have any internet connection....
Well i'm a pityful artist sorry for holding commish and trades ...i feel so bad , truly sorry ...
So....it's a Goodbye now ^-^ Can't wait to see you all the April 6th !
LOVE YOU ALL ♡
G/t fic: Two Words ch. 2It was a dream the giant had every night without fail. Small things differed but the ending was always the same.G/t fic: Two Words ch. 255 minutes ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Damon was eight years younger, at his family house. He sat up slowly, cautious of making a sound, and put his ear to the paper-thin wall. He never realized it was a dream. He considered it a type of strange déjà vu that he tried in vain to understand, like his too-thin fingers grasping at smoke.
He recognized his father’s gruff voice, the voice of a working man. He had always had that voice, and though he was now in his seventies, his vocal coarseness remained intimidating. The second voice was completely unfamiliar to him. This one sounded somewhat more youthful. There was no roughness in it; rather, it was smooth and intelligible. He figured they were speaking of business, as was his father’s hobby. He owned the most popular gun shop around, and he always needed more help for fewer wages. Damon noticed they spoke so informally and laughed often.
A Collection Of BeginningsThe truth is when I look at you I don't know where to start.A Collection Of Beginnings5 hours ago in Free Verse More Like This
These butterflies have grown tenfold,
I look at my notebook and my brain stutters,
For once my incoherent rambling
has found a loss for words.
This may be another cliche love poem:
scholars call it 'classic',
teenagers call it 'inspiration'
(clumsy lines of black-ink sharpie,
criss-crossing the veins on the backs of their hands),
poets call it 'overdone',
but that is sad, for you,
are anything but cliche.
So if this love poem grows to be 'cliche',
allow me to apologise,
let this disclaimer exclaim
that the claims herein
do not adequately express the views of its -
Overall Confused and Recently En-Butterflied Author.
Where shall she begin -
this lovelorn girlish creature,
transplanted with those butterflies
(perhaps a distant cousin of a moth,
but this is not an entomology lesson),
fatefully embalmed in notebook paper?
Perhaps his hands,
criss-crossed with those veins,