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Literature
Suicide Note
The article in the paper said that she killed herself by jumping off an eight-floor apartment block. He felt that something was off there. Not in the gesture itself, but in its details.
Her mother told the journalists, crying, that she wasn't the sort of girl who would do such a thing. Her best friend said that she had her depressive episodes, but nobody could possibly have expected this. But he? He didn't find her taking her own life all that surprising. Still, something wasn't right. No suicide note, no sort of message to him. No strange actions, no frantic love-making or dispassionate 'my head hurts' statements. Everything had been normal prior to her death. It nagged at him.
When three days after her death he stepped out of the shower in the morning and prepared to shave, he was only mildly surprised to see that there was finger-writing on the steamed-up mirror.
'It wasn't me. I didn't kill her,' it said.
"I know," he replied out loud, then wiped the mirror cle
:iconTheOtherSarshi:TheOtherSarshi
:icontheothersarshi:TheOtherSarshi 172 113
There Is by MyLifeThroughTheLens There Is :iconmylifethroughthelens:MyLifeThroughTheLens 1,736 91
Literature
Nonno's Garden
It’s strange to think that you’re not here anymore.
I remember when we were younger and we’d arrive to see you. The first place we’d go was to the window, pressing our faces against the glass to try and catch a glimpse of you. We’d look out, and you’d be there. Like you always were. In the garden.
Each trip was different, an adventure. There were rows of neatly sown lettuce seeds, bean stalks twice as tall as we were, ripe strawberries just waiting to be found by our greedy little fingers.  Tomatoes would be taken and made into sauce, lemons would be squeezed to create limoncello, grapes transformed into a sticky grape jelly which tasted of summer and childhood dreams.
I kneel down and gently touch the small weeds which are beginning to sprout. I can feel the soft, moist soil. I remember your weathered hands sifting through it, removing the weeds that now grow from the ground. It’s hard to believe that I’m now alone, in the place whe
:iconbuttons-and-bicycles:buttons-and-bicycles
:iconbuttons-and-bicycles:buttons-and-bicycles 78 39
Literature
a ribcage drenched in dust
i have your ribcage, you said.
what should i put in it?
i told you i'd always wanted a fire,
the kind that would fill my eyes with starlight
and pump my blood full of passion, but
you're made of wildflowers, you said.
a fire would burn you to ash.
you wanted to fill my chest with
the sound of a train, whistling
far away in the night;
with the sound of rain smacking leaves;
with the sound the wind makes
when it seems like it's trying to speak
and you wanted to throw in the
smell of midnight in august
and the feeling of sand being
sucked out from under your feet
when the ocean inhales,
and the strange little moment of
bittersweet joy you get when
someone else puts your soul into words
and you realize you're not as alone as you thought.
i told you that if i had all that inside me,
i'd ache all the time
and you smiled a sad little smile,
because you already knew that ache.
because you were a writer, and you ached all the time.
i've got it, i said.
tell
:iconaprilwednesday:aprilwednesday
:iconaprilwednesday:aprilwednesday 408 167
Literature
The Last Song
Do you think we'll get a last song?
I'm not sure.  This diary I'm writing in is full of holes.  It's sopping like a wet sponge.  It reeks, but what doesn't in the filth and the mess?
Storm's passing.  Not like I've ever seen here.  Even the explosive storms of my youth; running in the fields, the junkyards, the rust-ravaged train tracks of old wasn't quite like this.  
Something's exploded against the skyline.  Orange is reflecting off the glass; the spider-striped, near shattered glass I kicked two weeks ago while mowing the grass.
It might be the gas works.  Or the chemical sheds.  Weyrdstorms do this, you know.  That's what the warnings said.  Electricity and chaos and hellish atomic confusion mixed into an atmospheric slurry and let to rage.  I ask the question because music's the one thing I'm yearning for right now.  It settles me, helps me think.  Always has, though keeping my sister's sniveling furthest from my head might be an ulterior motive.
Do I think I'm escaping this plac
:iconDodgingTheBeat:DodgingTheBeat
:icondodgingthebeat:DodgingTheBeat 131 40
Literature
a lesson
She is
laughing;
she tosses her hair back and
she laughs at the world
who cannot hope to match her stride.
She meets eyes unashamedly,
she is radiant with confidence.
She is shy,
timid,
her eyes are downcast and
her cheeks are mottled
red.
Her words are whispers,
her breaths are sighs.
She is a sly smile.
She is a soft
whisper in his ear.
She does not seem to know
who she is.
He wants
to peel back the layers.
(though they are both afraid
that what lies beneath
is ugly.)
He wants
to speak to her.
But the words are stuck
in his throat,
suffocated with the
absence
of
oxygen
and he has nothing
to give her.
He wonders
if there was ever any truth
in either of them.
In him for loving not-her
the way everyone loves not-her,
or in her,
for the elaborate
(gorgeous) façade.
He wants to tell her
he adores her, but
he has no oxygen around her
(no words to give her),
no conviction to assure her with,
no one to love but fiction,
and he is silent.
(you are a contradiction.)
:iconAndThenYou:AndThenYou
:iconandthenyou:AndThenYou 240 38
Literature
It's never too late
You will have been dead fifteen years tomorrow,
and yet not once have I visited your grave.
I was always busy; there was always time
to see you, to make amends. And yet, I feel
it's all a sham. I could make time, but I fear
the truth. It's easier to believe my lies.
If I went, I'd see your plot, see how you lie
untroubled, beneath the soil. Your tomorrows
ended many yesterdays ago. No fears
to face, no debts to pay. No decisions grave
to weigh your brow.  Not like your son.  How I feel
the heaviness of this life. There's too much time
and not enough. Lives end every day. It's time
to stop hiding from the pain. My future lies
along a path you've helped me walk. I can feel
your touch in everything I do. Tomorrow
is too late, sometimes. It shall not be graved
into history that I gave into fear.
For too long I feel I've lived a life of fear,
of caution, of safety, and, and yet such times
I had. Oh dad, you'd be turning in your grave
if you saw the choices that I made that lie
behind
:iconTheDorsai:TheDorsai
:iconthedorsai:TheDorsai 213 24
Robert Capa by Trunnec Robert Capa :icontrunnec:Trunnec 54 6 To The Light by diggedy To The Light :icondiggedy:diggedy 4,136 347
Literature
i) Wanderlust
i),
The first time I met the girl who started a revolution the sky was throwing down so much rain it felt like we were underwater. It was hard to breathe; and maybe that was because of all the rain, but probably it was because I looked at her face, under this dark red hood, and inside I was a story with all these feelings I could never say. I guess those feelings could only ever become words on paper - words in ink - not the kind I could ever speak aloud to anybody, if only because I couldn't bear for a person to see the look on my face while I remembered. Despite how good it felt - so hopeful, so desperately happy for what it was and could become - at the same time it was drowning in this sea, like the sky that day, for the way that everything else wasn't. And I said, what's your name?
At first we called her August when I brought her back to Jack's flat, which his parents paid for mostly, and which we used for getting high, mostly. She curled up in the armchair and rarely left it from
:iconwhatpumpkins:whatpumpkins
:iconwhatpumpkins:whatpumpkins 201 80
Endless Journey by RHADS Endless Journey :iconrhads:RHADS 10,225 276
Literature
Perfect Dreams Or Imperfect Reality?
Do you ever get that feeling,
Do you ever think that maybe,
Your dreams are just too perfect,
Hidden inside of your head.
Do you ever get the feeling,
That the dreams you dream are nothing,
Nothing till realities had it's say,
And added a few imperfections to the perfect image.
Do you ever think that perfection,
Is simply not enough,
Without a few meddles and difficulties,
Along the way.
That time you imagined lying in the grass in a meadow,
Wrapped arm in arm with your loved one,
Did you think that maybe if it was real,
It would start to rain?
Or maybe you'd accidentally lie on some stinging nettles?
Did you ever imagine to tip wine all over the person you are withs clothes?
Or to catch a cold from that snowball fight at midnight?
Or to have an allergic reaction to the grass you laid on?
Or maybe even have you car break down on the side of the high way?
It's the imperfect moments that make everything perfect,
The way you turn the broken down car,
Into a picnic under the stars,
Lying u
:iconHappyClappyShit:HappyClappyShit
:iconhappyclappyshit:HappyClappyShit 371 54
Sunset Orchard by Aixchel Sunset Orchard :iconaixchel:Aixchel 1,630 81 Who You? by IsaiahStephens Who You? :iconisaiahstephens:IsaiahStephens 3,107 207 farewell by berkozturk farewell :iconberkozturk:berkozturk 3,234 185 No Doll by zancan
Mature content
No Doll :iconzancan:zancan 1,830 114

deviantID

joycefungx
Joyce Fung
Hong Kong
Interests
In Winter 2012 I started this project; on Day 89, I stopped. Why?

Take my hand and make a trip down memory lane with me. I was brought up in a semi-privileged background (this has its ups and downs, but that’s another story); my parents and brother work overseas, and my sister studies abroad. We started out close, our family, but life intervened and as I grew up we grew apart. The only constancy was my godmother, who was my surrogate mother, father, heck, my whole family. A real fighter, too; diagnosed with breast cancer in 2011, fought it, won it. She was my inspiration, my forever hero. 

I only wish I could tell you she fought until the end. She didn’t. On Day 89, I received three news. One: her cancer has relapsed. Two: she doesn’t want to go through all the pain again. Three: she’s flying back to her hometown. 

I just... stood there.

She, who taught me how to fight, how to bite back when life bit you, she’s giving up. She, who stood by me all the time, even after my father, mother, brother, sister left, she’s leaving me. I was sucked into a black hole of too many emotions to name; just know that none was positive. I couldn’t bring myself to post another quote. With the project, I tried to light up smiles, make the world a better place, but in the end I couldn’t even keep her.

I was cleaning up my computer a few days ago, and came across my One Hundred Quotes folder. Every single quote spoke to me, stirring up a rainstorm of memories and emotions. I remember posting the first quote, just a drop in the ocean. And as the days passed the drop grew into a ripple, and then somehow ripple – our ripple – grew into a tsunami. Seeing the bright-eyed, hopeful teen I was made me realize how bitter and weak I’ve let myself become. In breaking the project off, I gave up fighting too. I ran away because I was scared and selfish... I’m so sorry.

But, starting from today, that’s going to be part of the past. Day 89 was an ellipses, not a period: One Hundred Quotes is back in action.

At the beginning, I was sixteen and hopeful. Here I am, two years older, not wiser. Broken, healing; still hopeful, even if it hurts, because life doesn’t stop happening when you close your eyes and if you live you life with your eyes closed, you’ll never catch a glimpse of the million bright and beautiful things happening around you, to you. Hopeful is how I started; hopeful is how I’m going to bring this project to an end.

Afterwards, who knows? I’m thinking of motivational backgrounds and quotes every week or two or so. What do you think? Let’s make this a communal thing. 

I’ll read all the comments you left/leave me and reply at my best. Forgive me if I’m not quick enough; college application is kicking in so I’ll be quite busy with school!

Thanks for stopping by. Have a most beautiful day.

Joyce

PS – Artwork! Mine is nowhere near phenomenal, but if you’re interested, please feel free to give me a shout-out on joycefung.deviantart.com! Will be uploading a piece of writing somewhat based on my godmother’s story. Every artist was first an amateur, eh?    

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:iconcrystal-magic13:
Crystal-Magic13 Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
:hug: Hope to see you again. And to write by your side once more.
DeviantArt salutes your struggles and your pain. Stand strong,
and remember that you do not stand alone. When you fall,
your brothers and sisters are around you and protect you with
their shields of faith. God bless. :huggle:
Reply
:iconicedragon300:
Icedragon300 Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2018
:iconballoonplz: Happy Birthday :iconcakeplz: :iconballoonplz: :D (Big Grin)
Reply
:iconicedragon300:
Icedragon300 Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2017
:iconballoonplz: Happy Birthday :iconcakeplz: :iconballoonplz: :D
Reply
:iconthecreator7777:
TheCreator7777 Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2017
Happy Birthday! And thank you for posting all the wonderful and inspirational quotes!
Reply
:iconleoryff:
leoryff Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2017
Happy birthday!
Reply
:iconicedragon300:
Icedragon300 Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2016
:iconballoonplz: Happy Birthday :iconcakeplz: :iconballoonplz: :D
Reply
:iconleoryff:
leoryff Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2016
Happy birthday!
Reply
:iconstarframe3d:
Starframe3D Featured By Owner Edited Oct 12, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
I just love your one hundred quotes project.
It helps me getting through life with a smile.
Reply
:iconleoryff:
leoryff Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2015
Happy birthday!  
Reply
:iconpokemontrainernaira:
PokemonTrainerNaira Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy birthday! :party: Continue shining and being an inspiration :cake:
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