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 Overuse of MetaphoresYou smile like it's an accident that comes without an apology.
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.
Tony x Reader - Jar of HeartsWORD OF WARNING!! CONTAINS FEELS!I know I can'ttake one more steptowards you. Causeall that's waitingis regret.You walked down the streets of Manhatten, and you phone buzzed in your pocket. You were just finishing up your nightly jog."Hey babe. <3"It was Tony."Hey! What's up?" You texted back."Nothing much. Just doing stupid paperwork that Fury assigned, so I won't be done for a while."You smirked and texted,"That sucks. See you in a few. Love ya! <3" You turned off your phone, and jogged to the Tower.And don't youknow I'm not yourghost anymore. Youlost the love Iloved the most.You walked into the Tower, seeing Natasha and Clint cuddling on the couch, watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You smiled at them, and you walked to the elevator."Miss, might I suggest you not going to Tony's room?" JARVIS asked. You frowned and asked confused,"Why?"Silence.I learned to live,half alive. And nowyou want me one more,time. And who do youthink
Bucky x Teen!Runaway!Reader Part 2PLEASE READ THE LAST CHAPTER TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE!!!"That was about 24 years ago. I was 12. Now I'm 15, almost 16. That man was the only person I trusted in a long time. His name was John, John Keller I think. He was about 21 when we met but the first five months I was with him, he died. I've been running since. No stops, never slept in the same place twice...Then HYRDA came, and offered me a job. I declined. It was the worst mistake of my life. They kidnapped me, tutored me, shoved me, and almost made me go mentally insane. Then, that's when they brain-washed me. They strapped me to a hard, leather chair, and took everything away from me...Even the only memories of my mom. They stuck me into a Cyro Freezer almost 24 years ago. I'll admit, I'm old lady. But I escaped from them. 3 years, two months, and 16 days days I've been away. And I've been slowly getting my memories back. But not in the ways I would have hoped. I get Night Terrors every single night. Not ever a
daughter on the stepstool I count the cracks in between the blocks of cement as I walk, eyes downcast. Sets of two, sets of two. I can never quite shake the way my bones don’t sit right under my skin, too big for my body. It’s a constant itch that I can’t scratch, only mollified when I listen, when I listen to what it tells me. My disease tells me to count in sets of two—blink four times, two sets of two. I don’t understand, but those numbers are safety in a storm. They ruin me, though. They ruin me. I hide behind mathematical equations that account for sets of two, and I leave her to drown.These are my hands, but they’re really just earthquakes. I am not afraid to crumble anything that gets in my way, and it’s always her. She always tries to stop me, tells me she loves me after calling me fucked up. Fucked up. I lose sleep because sometimes I dream in shades that I do not like. Blue, like her eyes. One syllable, half of a set. A ghost
RemorseConsequences: pay in blood. Almost dry.
Amber SunrisesI’m not entirely sure yet. You know, why bad things happen all the time. I’m kind of just here trying to figure all of this out myself. Why suns rise and set, why life comes into this world, and why it always has to end. I sat outside. That darkish blue color was in the sky again. It’s always in the sky. It’s like it never really goes away. And I guess it doesn’t because apparently the blue in the sky is just a reflection of the ocean. I woke up at 6:30am today. And I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I went outside. It was cold outside. The refreshing kind though. It was like a bitter sweet kind of wind and it tussled with the knots in my hair for a little while until they both calmed down and went in their respected directions. There was nobody else outside and it was quiet. I almost fell back asleep until I saw the sun starting to rise. So I climbed up onto the roof to get a better look at this amber fire. I almost fell off but I didn’t (I
fragmenti am cheap and easily bought; i come complete with bruises and the built-in urge to run away.
TrappedWe were both trapped in a queue of cars, four lanes on the motorway. It was 8am on a Friday and rush hour was creeping forward at a twelfth of the speed that it usually did. People sighed, some moaned, others dipped their hands lazily out of their windows catching the cool morning breeze. We were both there, you and I. My car crept forward almost as if it wasn't moving at all, my eyes focused on the road ahead, concentrating on the car in front - one eye on the van behind. It was one of those roads where the curves dropped away around a bend and into nothing. People craned their necks trying to see what was up ahead, what was keeping everyone back from their mundane mornings at their desks. I didn't want to look. But we were both there, stuck in the queue.I flicked the radio stations to see if there was a news update, red lights cleared as the crowd inched forward again. Lane one, then two then three merged into four as flashing lights and signs warned them of an obstruction. Brake li
The Boy I LovedThe boy I loved was not always the boy I loved: there was once a time he was someone else, and there was once a time when he was nothing at all, and there is yet to be a time when he will be nothing again. But he was the boy I loved when I met him and was yet still to love him. i'm so tired of disappointment The boy I loved had really sharp collarbones. "I swear," i would think as i lay my head on his chest, "they could cut me right open and i wouldn't mind." there's no next time, this was the last chance i gave myself He still may not be the last boy I'll love like this, but the boy I loved wanted forever with me, and i wanted forever with him. I exchanged a lot of promises with the boy I loved. So many that I often thought our pinkie fingers curled into each other instinctively whenever we said we loved each other. The boy I loved was a constant, but it was also the most tumultuous journey my hesitating feet have ever been on. it isn't good enough The boy I
Through a lover's eyesWow, I don't even know where to start... How do you describe someone like that, when words or images alone are simply not enough? She is just the most exquisite bundle of mischief I have ever, and probably will ever meet. Hell, she's a cocky wee git on good days, but even on the bad days she still has this amazing, fierce intelligence that I can only liken to the lightening that illuminates a storm, even if only for a brief moment. And though it does get to me a bit at times, I really do admire the wicked, almost sick sense of humour that appears along with that subtle dimple below the edge of her lips. Nothing has ever completely smothered that little spark; not even when she lay in that hospital bed, barely conscious from the cocktail of drugs she'd attempted to take her own life with. It has got her in trouble a few times; giggling at inappropriate moments, but I would far rather that than watching the light leave her eyes.It does make me sad; the repeated suicide attempts. I mean,
100ThemesChallenge - Two RoadsYou are well within your rights, at any moment, to stand up and say, "No, this is not who I am. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone I'm not."You can make the world more beautiful by simply refusing to lie about it.