The Places You Found LoveEveryone, but you especially as a woman, is biologically programmed to find babies cute. It's an evolutionary imperative, because the rational thing to do when you've got a screaming, shitting dependant taking up your food, is to kill it, and we need something to stop us doing that. It's also why people are generally attracted to big eyes and smooth skin - because they're characteristics of children.
And I'm not saying this to detract from the beauty of parenthood, or to make you sad, I'm saying it to point out that this fact doesn't make a baby's laugh any less wonderful. And I don't think the source of anything can make it less so.
This is why I can point out that any form of love isn't God or fate or destiny, it's that if two people have a strong emotional attachment, their children are more likely to survive.
Atomic bombs are beautiful.
So I will say that the me I am now, will and always has been feeling what I feel, but that sentence doesn't even make sense until we consider that
The Reasons We DieWhat I meant to say was that sometimes I just stare at the cigarette in my hands and beg for it to stop messing around and just kill me already.
But I figured you don't want to hear that.
The Shifting Nature of RealityYou asked me, "In these dreams, what does it look like?" I told you it looks different every time. Sometimes it's like a million feathers falling, sometimes it's like snow, sometimes it's like little stones, sometimes like ash, sometimes like a fine sand blowing across the hills. It's always silent. It falls around me but it never touches me. It never sticks. I told you sometimes I see dim figures walking in the distance through all the falling white. I told you I wish one would turn around and come to me. I wish one had your face. I wish the pink of your cheeks and blue of your eyes would appear to me unveiled from out of the drift. But the sad small figures don't turn around. They walk on, shoulders low, and disappear. I just watch them. You said, "I'm here now," and touched my hand. "I'm here now."
The Time Gone ByTick tock. All day. Every day is tick tocking by. There is no clock in your office that ticks or tocks, but you can hear the tick tock in your head. Tick. That's another second of your life gone, you think. Tock. That's one more second waiting for the man to tell you what to do. Tick. I'm a thinker, you think. Tock. Time to be a doer. Tick. You walk into your boss' office. Tock. I quit.
The clock stops.
The NuancePlay it one more time please, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure that its the only sound in my head. Play it again for me, I want to hear it once more. I want to make sure the only sound is correct. I don't want to hear that stare again. I don't want to see those words. I'll play the part again, I need to play it again. I need to make sure that every note is right. Give me a second to rehearse that part once more, I haven't been playing it right this entire time. I know it might sound right to you, but it doesn't sound right to me. I can't hear those words anymore. I never want to see that stare again. I have to keep playing. I never want to hear that again.
The Silence Goes On For YearsIn case of emergency, break glass. Throw plates. Cave to the insecurities you've harbored all along. Scream. Curse. Panic. Accuse her of never loving you, even though you know she did and still does. Tell her you never loved her. Tell yourself. Feel the world crumbling around you. Rip the rest of it down. Ignore her pleas. Her tears. Your regrets. Watch yourself leave, unable to stop your own feet. Slam the door. Keep walking. Realize, too late, that you didn't mean it.
The Art of Finding FlawsMaybe that's all it means, to grow up; to watch your heroes become human, right before your eyes.
the Millennia LaterDesolation has its own stark beauty. It's in the limbs of dead trees twisting up, pleading at the grey sky. It's in the air, cold with a faint hint of smoke and the barest breeze that stirs up the dust at your feet. The white-grey ash falls like snowflakes, dusting your hair, your coat, your mask. You catch one of the flakes and it crumbles between your gloved fingers. The ground is packed as hard as concrete under your boots as you turn your back on this cold, still world. You look up; the moon is barely visible. You will carry that memory with you as you go back underground. Mankind no longer has use for the stars.
The Real YouDay after day, you busy yourself with things that you enjoy, hobbies that make you content, spend time with people who make you laugh. Your friends see you smile and love the sunshine it brings to them, and you yourself are glad you could give them happiness. They see you as someone to turn to when they need to be reminded that life isn't so bad, that there is a way to express joy through the hard times, and they thank you for helping them, even though it seems like you were doing nothing but being yourself. But it was being yourself that spread those smiles to others, wasn't it? A chain reaction caused by the simple act of your own face preforming the ever so contagious grin. They see you as carefree, jubilant, energetic, and nothing seems to bother you. You love when people tell you you've made them smile, and it makes you smile, glad to know that you brought them happiness.
Then you remember who you really are. You remember that they've never seen the real you. You remember that the
sadness when my mind is unmappedsadness.
when my mind
continuos plans and goals
people and noise
a well designed team
but my mapped mind
is peace to me
DeviantArt the beneficiary
of a life long collaboration
of mind mappers
are you under it?
or, is it under you.
it is coming.
surrender your beliefs
open your mind
is the idea
Dear Ex,My heart overflows with gratitude to you for the wonderful way that you've been treating me since our breakup. The past months have been truly enlightening, and the gifts that you have given to me have warmed my heart, strengthened my spirit, and broadened my mind.
First, I must thank you for ignoring me, especially for passing me straight on the street, staring at your shoes as if you hadn't seen me there, even though I had been walking so close to you that our shoulders would have bumped each other, had there been only a foot's less distance between us. The time without you has forced me to reach within myself for the companionship and encouragement that I needed to press on. It has proved to me that you weren't as much as I had made you out to be, and enabled me to learn to carry on without you. You taught me a lot about putting others before myself, versus knowing when to put myself before others.
Secondly, I am grateful for your petty arguments, demanding my attention while
Inner Grells' short stories compilation. A kiss
He kissed me. Our lips fit together like puzzle pieces and remained connected and immobile for a brief moment. Now I understand the meaning of locking lips in a kiss. Then he pulled away and I stayed right there, with my eyes closed and the feel of his warmth still on my lips. After several moments I opened my eyes. The world swam. He was looking at me with an aloof sort of a smirk, while I was having trouble keeping my balance. I wonder how I looked from the side. Confused? Out of it?
"You happy now?" Sarcastic.
I tried to think of what to say. Gotta make him laugh. Gotta come up with something witty. Or maybe pout and demand a real kiss? While one part of my mind was occupied with these thoughts, another part honestly reflected on the question: Am I happy? YES. The realization washed over me like a warm wave: I'm happy. He kissed me. Right here, right now, I'm happy.
"Yes," I answered truthfully. I could feel a smile spread on my f
i wanti don’t know what to write here. that i miss you? that it’s not okay and i want your arms around me? i want the smell of you and your hands on my ears, tangled up in my hair. i want you sleeping and peaceful, fingers like butterfly wings on my spine.
i want your car, you and me and highways. i want the night pressed against us and the air thick with sufjan stevens and your voice.
i want your grandmother’s house and bumping hips in that tiny kitchen, your queen size bed and cool sheets, sprawling on the carpet in bare legs and baggy t-shirts, rug burn on the backs of my knees.
i want kissing in your parent’s half-finished basement, your mother asking my opinion of her hair and you shuffling awkwardly in the hallway. i want curling up with you on a tiny couch, half-listening to movies with dust on my feet.
i forgot how you smelled and it’s killing me.
Foolish Lament Of MineHandsome as the fairy-tale person you would never expect to meet-- Bowing before me as if I were his Queen, not a princess. Lips as pink as a rose; eyes green as the beautiful emeralds on the necklace of a king, yet his posture so correct and poise you would have to see it to believe my every note..
When I was writing this, did I imagine the man I started talking to months ago or did I imagine Tamaki from the romantic school comedy anime.... All these qualities I was listing in this romantic series I had written almost a year ago, and the qualities I listed in my heartbox that's underneath my dresser (that I've yet to bury in the backyard), they had come true... Or were they meant as a reminder..
Was the person I was talking to supposed to be a daily reminder that I'm not foolish to dream endlessly of the possibilities for numerous romantic situations to happen between my future love and I...? I believe so. When I look back on the romantic stories I read, to suppress the lonelin