LAST UPDATE - honest! xD
was doing this, and since I benefited from it I'm paying it forward.
AfraidI kept holding back,
From standing under that doorway,
Because I was afraid...
Afraid of ruining something good in my life,
And afraid of rejection.
I have a piece of what hung from the door frame,
Will I use it?
Will I put it on a shelf, never to be used?
Will I carry it around until my courage becomes stronger than my fear?
Or will I throw it out because I am afraid of what it could cause?
I was so afraid of getting my heart torn apart again,
I stopped doing something I had started,
Putting myself in a shell,
Reluctant to come out,
And hating myself for retreating there in the first place.
Why is it so hard to open up my heart?
Is it because of what I am afraid of?
Or is it because I may have forgotten how to open the door?
To all those questions,
I have no answers.
Thoughts As They ComeAs I grew, I remembered your love, your unforgetable laugh, and so many fond memories come to mind when I think of you. Now a toxin is taking over your mortal body, and my eyes brim with tears that I am trying not to allow to fall, but they do anyway.
Knowing that if I do see you in this life, you will probably not recognize me cuts me to the core and makes the tears prick afresh at my eyes. I know you wouldn't want me to cry Grandma, I know you would want me to be strong, to be happy, but I cannnot find the strength.
You taught me the love of music through your singing and loving to do so. I solemnly promise you that I will never truly stop singing, no matter what inner battles I may face. This promise is sealed, never to be broken.
As much as I want you to be there to beam at me on my wedding day, I do not think that will be possible. I know you will be there in spirit, but as selfish as it sounds, it's not quite the
Complete ParadiseStars like tiny gems, shining with their own rare light.
The moon having no light of its own, but reflecting the light of the sun.
A soft, cool breeze caressing all things around it.
The trees rustling lazily in the soft breeze, whispering to each other in a language only they can understand.
And chimes being awakened from their slumber, into song by the soft breeze...
Complete Paradise such as I have never before experienced, I can still feel the cool breeze dancing around me, see the stars and the moon beaming from their places in the Heavens, hear the trees whispering, and the chimes singing.
The Eyebrow Thing
My first thought was, I don't believe it. He really does wear that much purple all the time. My second thought was, Why am I even bothering to wonder about it?
I shook my head, deciding to look at my punch instead of Odd. He had a mask on, but I still knew it was him- who else would show up in a purple tuxedo? I had to admit, he had pretty good taste. He was wearing a dark violet, velvet waistcoat and pants with a black undershirt. For once, his hair was styled in something other than his usual gravity-defying updo. He'd left the hair gel behind, letting mauve bangs fall in his face and pulling the rest of his hair back. The mask was a nice touch, even if I wasn't sure why he was wearing it. There was a small rose tucked in his breast pocket, too. Somehow, it worked.
And there you go, you're staring at him again.
I glanced down at my drink again. It wasn't as interesting a subject.
There was no further way to avoid it- I was bored. Truly, outstandingly bored. Despi
BraveryOn Saturday the twenty-first of January, Elliot took a gun, pressed it to the strip of bone between his eyes, and shot himself. The bullet shattered the frontal bone of his skull, warping his features past recognition, and burrowed through his pre-frontal cortex into the midbrain. He died before the sound stopped echoing through his empty apartment.
This story isn't about that.
I worked with Elliot for only a little while—less than six months. Most of what I knew about him came from his desk. Unlike the smaller ones the secretaries and other reporters had, it was a stately, imposing thing. It would've been terrifying, especially to a mousy little girl like me, but it was covered in paperweights and spare pens and pictures of people hunting ducks. Anyway, Elliot himself denied fear: he was middle-aged, poised on the cusp between forty and fifty. His hair had already turned grey, but he didn't dye it, like he hadn't noticed he was getting older or just didn't care. He smiled more t
BedmatesOne night, Insomnia and I
Will curl up together
And learn to sleep
To the tattoo of a heart beat.
Or to the lullaby of gasping waves
From a machine that validates itself
By pretending it's the ocean
A Month of Letters - IIDay Six - To a Stranger
I know your name. I know where you're from and where you work. I know the pet name you make a habit of using at the end of sentences. I also know the irony of me opening with it will be lost on you. I know the man you're dating. Yes, I know him very well.
I don't know you though. You are a stranger to me. With no offense intended, would you mind terribly at least trying to keep it that way? I have no desire to know you. The few minutes of interaction we have occasionally is more than enough for me right now. It's all I can really handle. I really don't mean to sound rude or anything. It's just, well, he's yours. You've won. There really isn't anything more that I need to know about you beyond that.
You are his type. Normalcy won, after all his lovely talk about marching to the beat of my own drum and all the other lovely phrases that fell from his bespelled, musician's lips. It's as though he were King Midas or rather that princess in that one stor
Sunday NightsIt's time to
Throw clothes stained
With meaningless words
& careless touches
Into the laundry.
Try to blink away
The lack of sleep
& brush stale beer
Out of your teeth.
Wash the cigarettes
Out of your hair
& scrub the bar fights & tipsy falls
Off your limbs.
Bear a mostly cold shower when the tank runs out
'Cause only two minutes of steaming water
Isn't enough to no longer feel dirty
After two steamy nights.
& you never cease to be amazed
That one night of being alone again
Can so rapidly unravel a weekend
Of some stranger's lies about caring for you.
Your biggest question seems to always be
Which one is scarier,
A cold, barren half of a bed
Or warm but unknown side?
You turn off your lights
Tell shadows good night
Curl up tight so your toes don't touch
The icier regions of your lower sheets.
You didn't make mass again this week
But that hasn't changed in years.
So you whisper a prayer, quick & fleeting,
Thinking maybe that would make momma proud,
It's Sunday night after all.
(c'mon, how could I not?)
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My other hang-outs:
The Rorschach/Watchmen Kinkmeme
Rorschach emote by Smileydesign (Gomotes)
Stamps by picklelova, styrecat, Fedini, grau-gestreift, Jhas777, BuckNut, Cyberknife
- Reading: "Fables"
- Watching: Whatever's on the TV
- Drinking: coffee
Haha, thank you very much.