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emalineshe was a quite sort of girl, he had observed. the kind of girl you wanted to say you knew because it meant you held a piece of the puzzle others could only wonder about. in knowing what was hidden to others, you became special. she was the sort of girl who ripped her favourite pages from books and tucked them carefully into her palm, then snugly into the worn pockets of her grandfathers cardigans, which she said were the only ones that fell just right on her small frame. she collected words in her perfect pout keeping secrets and promises and words that just roll of the tongue, but never rolled off hers just right- so she kept them hidden inside where she was perfect. her eyes spoke a million words a minute that he often found himself tripping over them if he looked too deeply; but just like looking into a flame he was completely consumed, he knew it- she didn't.
she was an oblivious sort of girl, he had observed. but she was his sort-of girl.
pulsing insecuritiesi am afraid;
of the intimacy of holding hands
and of how my heart will burst
when you touch my pulsating skin.
of being a feather and letting myself fall
even though i know that your arms
are more than capable of catching me.
of standing tall and walking next to you
instead i slouch and shrink away
when you get too close.
when you say words that penetrate
my oh so strong defences and they make their way
into the dictionary of my soul.
how i swell inside like everything in me
is ready to pop and i don't like it
but i like you and
why can't these feelings go away
i don't want to be alone.
i am afraid of being alone-
but i am afraid of loving you
welcome to the darknesslike spectres on a blank white wall
thoughts of you distract me, constantly
from living and loving and loneliness
in some sick and twisted and mortal and human way
these thoughts are both the most comforting
and most heart breaking moments i hold on to
what a fool i am seeing the darkness as light
what a fool for falling prey to such a petty illusion,
a slight of hand
"holding on is the only way i can let go", i tell myself
"holding on pushes you away more and more", i tell myself
"holding on is such a waste of fucking life."
the polar knightshe caught your eye one day- while you were standing behind a counter; behind the wall you had built; behind the coldness in your eyes. she was everything that could melt the ice that had prickled your heart all these years- but you pushed her away, as the fledgling does the nest- and so you lost the sparkle in her eyes and let the cold seep deeper still.
you came across her again, many months later, her beauty more radiant than ever- your frost spread through your limbs reaching for her warmth. her draw was like that of a flame, so tempting to reach into and capture and yet so dangerous to those who desire to contain it. fire breaks glass and ice and men. your eyes melted at the sight of her and chilled again with every moment you spent separate.
it went like this on and off; days upon days of cold winters submerged in the frozen hell you made your home, only to be rescued briefly by a gimps of the sun- your north star, shining bright. you notice, however, that her warmth is fel
whispers on airwaveswords held by memories flow
lost in the abyss known as the
between of happiness and loss
laughter drifts through the cracks
created by shouts of anger
and passionately hurling hate
and love and confusion about
moments of static white noise
interspersed with thought up
conversations we maybe had
and maybe didn't (to be honest,
i don't know what reality is anymore)
but they are there and i am not
and one day static will be all that is left
the death of ratiosi was the little girl that
brought books to sleepovers
and now i'm buried underground.
two plus two did't lead to this
but you and i did so i guess that's
the only math left that matters.
i don't remember anything
especially what it's like to kiss you
and these dead lips couldn't be happier.
you'll spend an eternity in denial
and i'll spend it trying to catch whisps
of memories caught in the haze.
a salacian dreami pushed my cold bare feet deeper
into the dirt as i fumbled with the buttons
on your shirt and smashed my lips into yours
as hard as the rain that was crashing down,
on us. wave after wave, cascading down our warm bodies.
you held my hand in attempt not to lose
yourself in the flood of our emotions, but
the tide was coming in with the moon and
darling, you know you can't control what happens
during a full moon. but i held you close anyways.
either the world was spinning or we were spinning
or my eyes were rolling back into my head in ecstasy-
but something felt so right in the chaos. like being
carried places i could never go alone- i never wanted
the hurricane to end. never wanted you to let go.
but, darling, you know you can't control what happens
when your world is spinning and your hands start slipping
and, darling, you let go and i tried to hold on, but it was too late
and the sea swallowed you whole they said. so i drowned
you in my tears too, hoping that the hurricane would nev
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
i should have never loved you.in that one moment, i wanted to stand up and hit him: i wanted to make him hurt, make him bleed, make him feel what he did to me. make him feel his lies and deceit, push it into his skin like a knife and letting the scarlet lies pour out for everyone to see.
every little lie, every "mia bella" came back to haunt me. every word that idly dripped out of his mouth that caressed and cared for me turned black and shriveled like a dead flower.
because every time he kissed me, he lied.
i can't believe i just let him string me along like that. he just turned me into some sort of flesh-and-blood puppet, tossed me around and stepped on me like garbage put on the curb for tuesday night pickup. he put me in a plastic bag with old coffee grounds and used condoms from a night when i wasn't there.
i should have never loved him.
i am an ocean nothing floats on.i am an ocean that nothing floats on.
her mother always told her that each part of her body was capable of becoming something hard and cold, something that a military man could arm himself with and leave a trail of destruction. There was an anchor in the pit of her stomach, resting on the bottom of a black and white ocean, carelessly tossed in by a reckless boy with matching eyes. it leads her to somewhere she has never been. It sinks her to ocean floor and leaves her waiting for the waves to stir her back to the surface.she learned about space, and the gaps that leave people feeling empty and lonely, and throughout the years of her youth, everything related back to the ocean residing inside her chest cavity which on the coldest and emptiest nights she could feel thrash and peak and cause her to choke and spit it up in violent convulsions. she learned that her stomach acids were responsible for the curve of her bones and the shapes of the shadows they made in sunlight. as her years tic
glitter.you wrote me love letters from the passenger seat,
pressing stars to my eyelids and hearts to my forehead.
you wrote me lies.
like the summer months, you never stick around long enough to make a lasting impression.
winter always takes over, cold
fingertips washing away all past evidence of the blistering friction once there.
(the only way I made it through was remembering that
youre only another calendar away; that youll come back.
I dont think Ill make it through this time.)
Id write you every word in the french-english dictionary if only one would spark a memory.
you seem unable to reminisce and incapable of nostalgia.
(really, I think theyre powers you passed onto me, increasing mine tenfold.)
youre like something acidic, burning in my throat.
but all the way down, youre smoldering the word
you held me close with trembling hands,
telling me how I was your living reincarnation of
you're a series of unconnected thoughtssometimes i wonder
if it's really true--
if history really does just
and now we're stuck in its loop where
you're holding everything back
and i'm holding everything in.
and there's nothing to do,
but hope for the best
or at least something better.
but for now, i just wonder
if there's anyone else
who misses quite as much
as i do.
it's never enough to remember,
but it's always too much
schemes and daydreamsdear boy-i-kissed-but-wish-i-hadn't,
oh, I knew you were a mistake right away. I knew it wouldn't end well, but I did it anyway. was it because like lara said I was lonely and you were there? or like you said, because it was inevitable? or even my excuse because I was running on 3 nights of 3 hours of sleep straight? well. even I know that's a horrible excuse. I hardly ever sleep. so I don't know why. I just know I wish now that I hadn't.
oh, my dear boy. I liked you right away. I just figured I'd spend the week hopelessly dreaming after you. it never occurred to me that you'd like me back. I knew it'd end, that you'd go back to your edge of the world and I'd go back to mine and we'd never see each other again, but I fell anyway. I don't know why I never kissed you. was it because like our director said we were in charge, and responsible, and that was innappropriate? or because I was bor
we're all made of stories.We're all either made of cells or stories, but in your case, it's both. You're somehow bigger than what one body can contain. And I know that all of this all these words and breaths and spaces aren't enough to explain you. You're better than any fiction will ever be.
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of your car, watching the familiar city streets flick by, fast like a picture book. It felt like there was something I was missing between the pages and second story houses, but I couldn't place it. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle, holding my insides in since I was afraid with every passing moment I would let their contents spill. You wouldn't look at me, but you kept talking. For the first time ever, I wished you would stop. You were telling me that you could never love me and I was completely aware that I had already foolishly followed you in too deep and now you were letting me know that you had been drowning for years. You were promising to take me und
on being sorrythere are days when the beauty in me is suffocated by the senseless rage in you. i sense this rage in you. i watched you unfold into something i could hold on to, something that grew and made sense. i watched you pick a dead butterfly up from the ground and then you gave it to me and i kept it for the longest time, over a year, and i still have part of it. i watched you climb a mountain and hold the sky in your mouth. you gave that to me too. i watched you water me until i grew right alongside you. we were an unbreakable pair. roots all tangled in with each other. i watched you cry because you loved me so much. i cried too. i watched you make mistakes, and i made some too. i forgave you, and you forgave me too. you were the most beautiful thing i ever saw. the tallest, brightest, widest soul i will ever hold. but you are dark somewhere in there.
i watched you stumble onto yourself. your heart is very clumsy. you are unforeseeable, you are table toppling on children's feet. i can't brea
this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.You were never meant for me.
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin a quiet and humble confidence while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself bu
true lieshis eyes looked at me with disdain. i thought that once i had broken through his barriers his eyes would smile and his laughter would ring through every fibre of my body and that his cheeks would glow. instead all i felt was a greater coldness. except now it wasn't just a general feeling- it was directed very pointedly at me.
"you're not who i thought you were," he growled through clenched teeth. his words left me feeling that he wanted to say something angrier, something more malicious but he held back. even when his defences were down he was still calculated.
do you think that maybe you never knew me? that you built up an ideal image of someone unattainable yet appropriate for you? i pleaded with my eyes. but it was no use. he wouldn't even look at me. he knew, he finally knew, that he had built me up to that ideal because he felt it would be everything he deserved. now he saw, or rather didn't want to see, that he really didn't deserve it at all. ideal or not- he didn
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More