hallucinations and dreamsHow do I call you without losing the romance and mystery?hallucinations and dreams5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
What ritual or dance is done to the moon to bring me your kisses?
The death of a being of such beauty is a spectacle that seems to me as sad as wonderful... I feel compelled to stop it.
Every night, when I retire quietly of your dreams, but not before leaving a black rose on your pillow, along with a note "Goodbye beautiful girl. You already have a place in my heart. "
For a moment, a feeling consumes me the idea of staying here by your side until I'm lifeless...
But then I think about the consequences of letting me die: my soul would rest, yes; but my body would miss you, and that pain could not bear a lifetime.
One sometimes die slow, and miss everything that has not happened yet, living in a fantasy, a fast and bright longing to that person who has not even turned around to see us ...
These are seemingly endless minutes, minutes where only exists pain and torture.
The pain becomes a pang.
The rumors are floating in the mist.
Satellite HeartYour love has many faces, occurs in small and large actions, lasting and fleeting.Satellite Heart2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Today I do not know of broken promises, or forgotten words, just know that I miss more than ever the tenderness of your look.
One form of love that awakens more questions is that of romantic love. We feel it, but sometimes we doubt whether it is "true". Is it just desire, attraction, compassion, need to fill a void, fear of loneliness?
And I miss your life, your eyes. I miss your voice, your hands.
I think your love has little to do with stability. Even after the first meetings, you get to a stage less passionate, but never a lethargy.
I miss you for the simple fact that you took away from here with you half my heart.
Love shakes us, binds us to another person in a story where rationality does not operate.
I miss find your messages, give my poems, art that attempt waiting for you ...
How not to think that I don’t miss you, if you're all that I have?
It's a mystery. We feel it, we live it, but we ca
An Obvious Spanking*Read the description below, there is a picture/drawing from a fellow deviantART member that goes along with the short story.*An Obvious Spanking3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
France and England sat at the world meeting and were jabbering on and off with each other in little spats. It had been this way for as long as Arthur could remember. Since the early days, when they were both fighting against one another, the Brit just did not want to deal with the French nations presence. Normally Arthur would do everything in his power to find a different seat, but the French nation always seemed to want to sit next to him. He shook his head with a sigh.
Germany had the table, and was talking. No one usually talked out of turn when he had the seat, and England looked over while rolling his eyes. He grabbed up his cup of tea, and sipped from it. France continued talking, but quietly.
"Come on Arthur come over, and I guarantee 'ou will 'ave a delightful time. My maids, 'zey are 'ze definition of satisfaction. Hoh hoh naughty lit
Mistletoe and Wine (Johnlock)Twasn't the night before Christmas,Mistletoe and Wine (Johnlock)1 year ago in Romance More Like This
And snow didn't fall,
The only thing stirring
Was a man both handsome and tall...
Sherlock didn't see the point in Christmas-themed food, or in fact the concept of eating at all. The fact that John partook in such an activity, or even relished in the joy of such an occasion, confused Sherlock, but it had come to Sherlock's attention how the 'ordinary' human being would like to eat nice foods.
It had also come to Sherlock's attention how he had neither skill or interest when it came to preparing food. However, if it was for John...
He flicked through one of Mrs Hudson's recipe books he'd 'borrowed' from her, sighing distastefully at the selection of foods that flicked through his vision. It almost made him nauseous to see all the different types of food, and he tried to ignore focusing on the images and just on the titles of the dishes as he flicked through the book. However much he tried to focus, though, each Christmas dish looked as sickly as