#excerpt from my story

[novicepen]

“Yeah, break-ups suck and can break your heart, but losing a best friend shatters your entire world.”

- Excerpt from a WIP

[cvtastrophee]

i have yet to find the end to this pain.

[thewaitingluna]

I loved you in the purest forms, only for you to hurt me in the cruelest ways.

[thesewordsaremymusings]

“I want to take my heart off my sleeve, it has grown too heavy.”

-m.n.

[fleurral]

for someone who loves words, i find it difficult to put my thoughts together. i have so much to say but the alphabets seem to stay alphabets alone—no phrase expressed, no sentence constructed. i wanted it to be coherent. i wanted it to be in-depth. i wanted it to be meaningful yet noncomplex. i want the words to linger and not just touch. stuck and not just hit. absorbed and not just flipped over. however, for someone who loves words, i cannot identify the right words to utter. it feels like no term can justify the feeling i wanted to memorialize. no idiom is that deep. no speech is that articulate. it is like there are not enough words in this world to seize the emotions i bear. though i love words, i am afraid i cannot find the words that are worthy to depict my experiences. with that, i am also afraid that such experiences will remain as memories in my mind—most likely to be forgotten and left behind.

[averlym]

fairest of the fair

[melloncolliegalaxies]

[blooming-anna-rose]

“I watch him, and I think, he could be my soulmate.

But I hold myself back, I hold myself steady and let myself wonder if one day we will look back and laugh at our story. If one day we will be drinking coffee in the morning and talk about when we were young and dumb. He will tell me how much harder I made it for us, and I will shrug my shoulders and apologize for my stubbornness. And we will laugh and we will be together in the end.

And then I look down, and look back up to see him staring at me.”

- n.c. // and I hold myself back

[thepathetickind]

some people might say I talk a lot  but the truth is I keep everything inside 

by laurenmaerie, some people

[mymessyink]

I’m past fleeting love. I want something serious. The ‘“I want you to be my safety and I’ll be your peace type of love.” A love where we fight for each other - not with each other. A love built on comfort, honesty, reassurance, and consistency. One where holding each other makes the good better and the bad easier. I want the forever type of love with you.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

[sweetsweetperil]

A black lit room

Filled with the finest of vanilla perfumes,

Hidden, yet not afraid to bloom

My fingers that dance and the piano that moves,

Singing a song you’ve yet to hear

But feel you already knew

[cvtastrophee]

nothing but a storm. forever going to be a storm

[thewaitingluna]

Forgive me if i shut down emotionally, i was raised to be a ghost with ears, always willing, always available for tales about to be told.

[doll-elvis]

here’s a lil story I found about how elvis discovered his love for a certain something

from the book “Rhythm Oil” published in 1991

the original article was written in 1967 by the legend Stanley Booth and published in 1968 with the story about Natalie and Elvis cut by the publisher (lame for that)

[lost-in-time-marie]

I find myself thinking tonight about human touch. There’s something written in the biology of a human to want touch, to need it, to be healed by it. The infants in the NICU that get held, a gentle hand placed on the head, one finger too large for them to even grasp, get better faster, grow bigger. You’d think I get some personal pleasure in making a mockery of biology the way I insist upon breaking its rules. But like so many biological behaviors and inherent drives, this too has become a twisted and corrupt thing for me.

I don’t like to be touched. I don’t remember anymore a time if I did. When some blaring catastrophic alarm wouldn’t go off under my skin at an unexpected grasp, a tap on the shoulder, a graze in passing. Even if I wanted the touch, or thought I did, if I had a crush, if I loved them, even if in a relationship with them. I would still feel the wrongness of it like a weight sinking in my chest.

I’ve learned to grow accustomed to certain touches. The familiar ones, akin to me or some effect of time and depth with me. Of course, the most difficult always remains with romantic love. There’s people I’ve loved with my whole heart and it didn’t stop the ants that live under my skin that can’t stand the feel of theirs. I’ve only known three men in ten days shy of 27 years that could touch me. That I didn’t have to bear, that I didn’t have to hide the grimacing, that didn’t cause that jarring screech to a halt. So far, I’ve lived to see two of them wither away and turn into something foul and rotten, until the skin shrinks away once more.

I can’t figure out what causes it, where the pattern is, what rules it follows. I’ve wanted to be in a loving relationship with people, but I couldn’t stand for them to touch me, and I could never grow accustomed. The three men that cause the anomaly couldn’t be more different, maybe a certain type or set of features here and there, but nothing significant. When I first meet them, there is something inherently familiar, comfortable, easy.

I’ve only met the third recently. I only met him for the first time less than a week ago. That was my worst fear, my biggest risk on this trip. I didn’t care about navigating the airports and all the flights and connections. I didn’t know if when I got there he would feel like a stranger, something foreign, something wrong. I didn’t really have a plan for what I would do if he did, maybe just pretend or run home early. I was hedging a bet, putting a lot of faith in that feeling in my chest when we would talk on the phone. It’s the first time I hear his voice and yet I’ve known this sound.

I look up to see him for the very first time in the airport. I’m staring down at my phone on purpose, because I don’t know what to do with my searching eyes, barely balancing the teeter-totter of unease and excitement inside me. He says something about finding me. I look up and I smile. And he is so familiar. I know him, I recognize him. And relief pours down in a rainfall from the crown of my head, soaking all the way to my toes. I feel self conscious, nervousness falls a blush on my cheek, but not because of a wrongness or strangeness. There’s a touch of something familiar, a curiosity at the yet unknown, excitement about all the possibility. And there is nothing wrong about it.

Funny, how that’s the part that scares me the most. I don’t know when I got so afraid to want things, not exactly anyways. But it is the first reflexive kick of my brain, the stone I turn in my pocket just for the comfort. If I don’t want it, if I don’t hope, it can’t hurt me.

~K.

[loveistheword]

His pretty doe eyes.

Now how do I explain how his eyes made me feel...

His pretty eyes that smiled whenever his lips did. His beautiful brown eyes that held the whole world in them. His captivating eyes with so much depth yet so much innocence that they couldn't lie in any which way. His loving eyes that never judged, only listened. His kind doe eyes that never understood how pure he is for this world.

You could read his life through his eyes... they never held grudges, nor did they carry any agenda.

While they warned to not wear a heart on a sleeve, he unapologetically wore his in his eyes.

His eyes that make me feel enough. His eyes that make me feel whole. His eyes that look like home.