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feeling the love anymore?
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Hang high soft star

Plenty of reasons

P

Plenty of reasons

It shouldn't have been a gloomy evening - the temperature was pleasant, with a slight breeze that blew wisps of vapour by far above, silky grey against the clear deep blue of the sky. The cicadas cried still and the city's streets hung in their usual laidback stagnancy. All was as it should be - with the exception of one person. Pedestrians stumbled and scowled and muttered after the boy as he tore down the street, startling them out of their mobile phone conversations. "Young people these days," they said, rolling their eyes knowingly at each other. "No respect, and at this hour!" Felix neither knew nor cared of their disapproval; his mind

Felix

F

Felix

He would sit on your doorstep for hours at a time when he knew you were home, his legs stretched out in front of him and a smile sheepishly playing on that ridiculously perfect mouth of his, telling you all about the weather and his favourite book and his best friend and Cuban politics and how he always secretly liked your band, even when you called him a crackwhore, even when you slammed the door in his face, even when he was getting you drunk and then holding you down and laughing at your fear. He would wait for you in the rain on your way home from work with flowers and serenades, and leave you messages in four parts on your answering mach

Six

S

Six

1. I like to group everything into genres - movies, music, colours, lives. I thought mine was a clichéd teenage drama, for a while, and maybe that's true to a certain extent, but more than that, it's a coming of age story, a romance, a comedy. I want it to be a feel-good family romp. I want it to be an unforgettable epic. I want to inhale memories and and shapes and stars and exhale the feeling that ties my chest in knots when I cry. For three years, you've inspired me, motivated me, laughed with me and lifted me up when I was down. For three years I've wished I could be as gorgeous and strong as you. For three years I've watched you c

Bridging The Gap

B

Bridging The Gap

Under the fluorescent light, between the aisles weaves a nondescript middle-aged woman with a shopping trolley. She has presumably been here a while; the trolley is full almost to the brim with tomato-based spaghetti sauces, soft drink, chocolate cake mix, shampoo, mince meat and spray-'n'-wipe, and now she lingers in the refrigerated dairy section, under the pretense of trying to find specials on the trim milk. Her skin is browned and weathered, her face a lined mask of unsentimental, no-nonsense good intentions. Her name is Joy Duncan and she is looking at the goat's cheese instead of the trim milk because her mind is elsewhere. One would

Letters

L

Letters

Dear me- You have the right to be happy. You don't exist to serve. Dear me- Life is worth living today, if only for tomorrow. Dear me- Real beauty is not easy to achieve, but you can do it. Just try. Dear me- You've proven yourself lucky many times before. Have some faith in the people who need you. Dear me- Don't hate your smile because it's lopsided; you're the one who said crooked beauty is the best kind. Dear me- Your daydreams are within your reach. One day somebody will kiss your forehead and mean it. Dear me- Love you for you. Not him. You. Dear me- Don't forget how to breathe. Draw the air in; let it infla

Linda

L

Linda

Her skin was the kind of fair that reminded him of candlewax instead of sunshine, and she was one hundred and forty-nine centimetres tall with a monumental presence that filled a room and kept her subordinates quiet with very little effort. She was the type of woman who would look you straight in the eye when she told you that you were an ignorant, incompetent swine who didn't deserve to clean her toilet with his toothbrush; the type of woman who unquestionably had never cried until her eyes didn't want to open anymore. She practically lived in that abandoned coffee shop - many mornings he would arrive to find her slumped over an aged, three-

Pieces Of You

See all

Hang high soft star

Plenty of reasons

P

Plenty of reasons

It shouldn't have been a gloomy evening - the temperature was pleasant, with a slight breeze that blew wisps of vapour by far above, silky grey against the clear deep blue of the sky. The cicadas cried still and the city's streets hung in their usual laidback stagnancy. All was as it should be - with the exception of one person. Pedestrians stumbled and scowled and muttered after the boy as he tore down the street, startling them out of their mobile phone conversations. "Young people these days," they said, rolling their eyes knowingly at each other. "No respect, and at this hour!" Felix neither knew nor cared of their disapproval; his mind

Felix

F

Felix

He would sit on your doorstep for hours at a time when he knew you were home, his legs stretched out in front of him and a smile sheepishly playing on that ridiculously perfect mouth of his, telling you all about the weather and his favourite book and his best friend and Cuban politics and how he always secretly liked your band, even when you called him a crackwhore, even when you slammed the door in his face, even when he was getting you drunk and then holding you down and laughing at your fear. He would wait for you in the rain on your way home from work with flowers and serenades, and leave you messages in four parts on your answering mach

Six

S

Six

1. I like to group everything into genres - movies, music, colours, lives. I thought mine was a clichéd teenage drama, for a while, and maybe that's true to a certain extent, but more than that, it's a coming of age story, a romance, a comedy. I want it to be a feel-good family romp. I want it to be an unforgettable epic. I want to inhale memories and and shapes and stars and exhale the feeling that ties my chest in knots when I cry. For three years, you've inspired me, motivated me, laughed with me and lifted me up when I was down. For three years I've wished I could be as gorgeous and strong as you. For three years I've watched you c

Bridging The Gap

B

Bridging The Gap

Under the fluorescent light, between the aisles weaves a nondescript middle-aged woman with a shopping trolley. She has presumably been here a while; the trolley is full almost to the brim with tomato-based spaghetti sauces, soft drink, chocolate cake mix, shampoo, mince meat and spray-'n'-wipe, and now she lingers in the refrigerated dairy section, under the pretense of trying to find specials on the trim milk. Her skin is browned and weathered, her face a lined mask of unsentimental, no-nonsense good intentions. Her name is Joy Duncan and she is looking at the goat's cheese instead of the trim milk because her mind is elsewhere. One would

Letters

L

Letters

Dear me- You have the right to be happy. You don't exist to serve. Dear me- Life is worth living today, if only for tomorrow. Dear me- Real beauty is not easy to achieve, but you can do it. Just try. Dear me- You've proven yourself lucky many times before. Have some faith in the people who need you. Dear me- Don't hate your smile because it's lopsided; you're the one who said crooked beauty is the best kind. Dear me- Your daydreams are within your reach. One day somebody will kiss your forehead and mean it. Dear me- Love you for you. Not him. You. Dear me- Don't forget how to breathe. Draw the air in; let it infla

Linda

L

Linda

Her skin was the kind of fair that reminded him of candlewax instead of sunshine, and she was one hundred and forty-nine centimetres tall with a monumental presence that filled a room and kept her subordinates quiet with very little effort. She was the type of woman who would look you straight in the eye when she told you that you were an ignorant, incompetent swine who didn't deserve to clean her toilet with his toothbrush; the type of woman who unquestionably had never cried until her eyes didn't want to open anymore. She practically lived in that abandoned coffee shop - many mornings he would arrive to find her slumped over an aged, three-

Pieces Of You

drinking the sky.

d

drinking the sky.

she wants to be loved by someone beautiful. she has dreamt up names and a face; a smile and laughter and sparkling green eyes. she has watched, through a haze of fairy dust, mornings at coffee bean together, sitting opposite him cupping mugs in their hands and not saying anything because in the mornings at seven, lost in each other’s company with the synchrony of their movements playing a harmony and the drone of grey-suited office workers as a background accompaniment, what would you like are the only words they need to share. because when he loves her that much, the fragile things that her English teacher calls language don’t n

el mejor espejo

e

el mejor espejo

everything ugly i see in me vanishes at the sight of you. your eyes are the most biased mirrors, but i can't help but believe them.

reminders i carry in my hand:

r

reminders i carry in my hand:

dear me, you do not have a terrible heart. you do not have sad eyes and love is not a war you need to win. sometimes i feel like disappearing, but remember: we are never really alone. dear me, every now and then, you can close your eyes and still find your way. remember to breathe because you did not sink a paper boat and you are not floating underwater. you already know the answer to the question you are looking for. dear me, remember the small things, like the writing in the borders of pages. see the things that everyone else misses. listen to your thoughts and then lose yourself. dear me, laugh until it makes you cry. see

Bulimia

B

Bulimia

And she's unfurled string In the closet room, A red dress against A black-and-white world. She's crying butter tears As she tries to be sugar-free And extra light, Feather lips and feather fingers. She bubble wraps her ribs To insulate her heart, Trying to keep something in As she forces everything else out. She's got a bucket full of words on her bedside, Vomiting poetry at the dead of night, Throwing up angry words and monsters, Clawing their way up her throat. And she's spilt acid On the bathroom floor, Fingers in her mouth and nails against her neck She can't stop retching secrets.

The Morality of Homosexuality

T

The Morality of Homosexuality

A father picks up his newspaper the morning after he buried his son, a Marine Corps Corporal. He found the front page dominated by a story about protesters thanking God for killing another soldier. The protester's justification? Their message is supported by scripture: God is punishing America for being tolerant of homosexuals and the death of soldiers is a welcome sign of God’s wrath. How is a parent supposed to feel when their beloved child, who happened to be different, dies fighting to protect a people who's only response is “You’re going to hell!” and “God hates you!” ? The claim in question today is "Hom

midnight.

m

midnight.

it is midnight and the clocks are chiming in the almost-silence. the sky feels like rain and somewhere, some girl is dancing and laughing and smiling, but she's certainly not me. our hearts are cold. they've been sleeping, curled into themselves for too long without a blanket or a pillow or a smile to fall back on. it's midnight and the sky feels like rain and there's going to be a storm later, but it won't match the storms inside, that's for sure. we are biting our nails, smiling and pretending nothing is wrong and saying, yes, darling, i'll get rid of this horrible habit in the morning. it'll all be better tomorrow, except it's midnight
228Comments

because i love you.

b

because i love you.

listen, just for a few minutes. take a few deep breaths [even if you don't want to breathe anymore]. listen to the pitter-patter of your heart beating in your ears and feel your pulse racing. taste the silence of the world; see the anxiety take over you. close your eyes and look at the black. look at the black until you see something worth holding onto inside of yourself. wait until breathing doesn't feel like a losing game and then open your eyes, and listen. . look, you are wonderful. you remind me of a lullaby in winter, sung like a secret not meant for anyone to know; but it's a shame, because you're one of the most beautiful songs.
598Comments

Spotlight

Linda

L

Linda

Her skin was the kind of fair that reminded him of candlewax instead of sunshine, and she was one hundred and forty-nine centimetres tall with a monumental presence that filled a room and kept her subordinates quiet with very little effort. She was the type of woman who would look you straight in the eye when she told you that you were an ignorant, incompetent swine who didn't deserve to clean her toilet with his toothbrush; the type of woman who unquestionably had never cried until her eyes didn't want to open anymore. She practically lived in that abandoned coffee shop - many mornings he would arrive to find her slumped over an aged, three-
0Comments
  • Australia
  • Deviant for 11 years
  • She / Her
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My Bio
I forgot! I also love yellow, freckles, high heels, the 30's, Disney movies, art, world politics, humour, Einstein, my family, long words, people who have opinions, debates, cartoons, alternative music, rollerblades, flowers, sunny winter mornings, caramel ice cream, petnames, accents, things that make sense, my OC's, your OC's, dance, Australia, smiles and lots of other stuff :)

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Elliott Smith
Favourite Writers
Catherine Jinks; estallidos

Schoooolyard. juniorrr high style

Schoooolyard. juniorrr high style

Going back to school soon.. I wish I had stuff to submit >__> I want to have some long chapter story to work on, but alas.. no ideas. (Infamy doesn't count!)

To my non-existent watchers

To my non-existent watchers

I am working on stuff! This account is only still active because I can't upload text to Photobucket and dA is a much tighter-knit community than other literature sites, it is easier to get noticed here. And for the past 3 years I've been wishing someone would notice my writing w (https://www.deviantart.com/w)@;; But since I write about OC's and such, as opposed to fragmented emo poetry about how terrible my life - is Of course it'll always be impossible. I persevere regardless! :heart:

Ten thousand umbrellas open to spoil the vieeewww

Ten thousand umbrellas open to spoil the vieeewww

Here is another 'preview' (of something I most probably will never finish) Actiony stories are where I'm most at home. With a lot of dialogue and emotion. Lyrical stuff isn't my forté :( it cuts off awkwardly and abruptly because I am too tired to care. "Elliott..." She shook her head, lost for words. "Elliott. Baby, what were you thinking?" Elliott's thin face was pale and drawn, the lips chapped; his hands were bruised, shaking slightly as he twisted them together. Natalie had been to see him the day before - he'd hardly been awake, but small movements of his lips reminded her how much he had needed her, how small and vulnerable he

Comments 10

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Welcome to the club!
...i love you :iconloveyouplz:


*buggers off* .x.
You've been featured here: [link] :)
Wow, again! Thank you so much, I'm more honoured than I have words for :heart:
A piece of your work has been featured here. :dance:
~=pullingcandy~