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18.It's exhilarating to love someone that your'e not supposed to; sneaking glances to make your heart race, trying to speak clearly through a lump in your throat, letting their radiant smile shine past the glint of the wedding ring. He supposes that's why he allowed himself to love her, as if he could get off on the thrill and would never have to even touch her. Her hair brushed against the back of his hand one afternoon, and he could see stars as she walked so gracefully away. He had never seen stars with any other girl, even when they pressed his hands against their cheeks, even when they let their hair dangle over his face like a curtain hiding a secret that everyone already knew. And so he spent the slowly disappearing days counting the times she could make his stomach twist and flutter.
After, he spent his nights awake trying to remember the way she sometimes lightly touched his shoulder. What they don't prepare you for is how hard it is to reason a broken heart over someone wh
17.I stand inside your skeletal remains, a different heart beats against its breastplate, a different set of organs is sheltered by the ribcage. You wouldn't recognize it anymore, but it still feels like home.
That's the beauty of being left behind, though they never mention it. I can watch it all be moulded and shaped again, death and rebirth and whatnot. It's almost disturbingly beautiful, as if I became your protege, left to maintain the body you left behind, to feed it, water it, and ultimately grow to love it.
I never expected to turn into you, but as I leave this body, my body, behind, planting seeds for someone else to water and grow, I realize that I have. And I realize that in loving it, I grew to love you, clinging forever, to these old bones.
16.The library was burning down, and there was nothing I could do about it. The yellowed pages of our favorite stories caught fire so easily and formed smoke monsters that got caught in the ceiling and disappeared into the flames that lapped against the ceiling. In my watering eyes, I could see your body forged from smoke and, darling, I knew that our story had gone up in flames.
14.She was supposed to be at her grandmother's house right now. Her mother had worried about putting her on the train alone, but her father insisted that she would be fine. He used to do it all the time as a kid, the conductors always make sure that the kids get off at the right stop and they usually give them candy. Her parents' flight left at six in the morning, and they dropped her off for the five o'clock train. They kissed her on the head and told her that everything would be alright.
It was early in the morning, in fact, she had never been up this early before. She tried her best to stay awake on the train, but by the third stop, she was asleep. When the train reached its final destination, the train conductor woke her to get off. He helped her get her luggage from the rack, and led her off the train to look for her grandmother.
Blinking the sleepiness from her eyes, she looked around the station, but the familiar face of her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. She walked over to th
13.People will throw away the strangest things. Just yesterday I found a pair of nearly new baby slippers, several books, and a box of pasta that had never been opened (don't they know that this stuff never goes bad?). Usually I just throw this all into the back of my truck, I can only keep the really impressive things, otherwise my house would end up looking like a smaller version of the dump.
The problem is, I can't stop taking the things she throws out. Yes, I have yet to see her face in person, but I know so much about her already. She can cook beautifully, I've seen her leftovers, and she has been to so many places. Just last week she threw out a bunch of old, blank postcards from Venice and Rome. I always put her garbage can back up on the curb once I finish with it, she has yet to say anything, but I'm sure that she appreciates the gesture. Maybe I'll see her next Friday on the route. I'll be sure to wear my nicest uniform.
Final WishesFirst letter:
Love, I have to tell you this. I know you won't believe me, because I don't believe it myself, but I have to tell you.
Remember when we were both kids, wishing on stars? I remember our first night – we were lying on the hill staring up at the sky, and then we held hands and together we wished that we'd be together forever and marry and have a kid who could change the world, and we held hands and then – this hurts to write, I'm sorry, I miss you so much
but, well –
it came true, didn't it? We married. And you're still with me, more or less, even if I can't see you and all you can see is these bloody letters, and – and our little girl can change the world.
She wished for a cat last night, love. I wish I could have told her no. We can't take care of one. But she didn't ask me, did she? She asked the stars.
I can tell you which star she asked, too. The centerpiece of Orion's belt is missing. And in her room, I can't even walk, there's not any su
Flying Dreams“I don’t know why I love you.
I just…can’t stop thinking of you.”
said old Mr. squirrel slowly caressing
the nut in his bed beside him.
He pulled the glasses from face and set them down
on the nightstand beside him
letting out a sigh. A picture of himself
and another sitting beside him.
He rolled back over and kissed the nut
falling into a deep sleep.
Mr. Squirrel dreamed of flying,
just as his cousins could.
Flying from tree to tree.
Like an overextended wonderful leap.
Safe from danger. Safe from the predators below.
A dog snapping and growling. He paid it no notice.
He was free and happy sailing through the trees.
Through the clouds. He could reach out
with his paws and touch them.
SO soft and fluffy
just like her…
He awoke from his dream startled.
It took him a second to catch his breath,
and he played with his graying beard hairs.
He had been much younger in the dream. So much younger.
“It’s a dream my sweet. Nothing more then a drea
It's Burning Down Anyway"You shouldn't play with matches," she said. "You'll hurt yourself."
I lit a cigarette - with a lighter - and remembered Annie Venter telling me that in the eighth grade as I lit matches behind the school. I had stared at her and lit the whole matchbook on fire, and then I had dropped it in the grass. She made me stomp it out.
I stood on the porch of my apartment, listening to the rain and staring out at the fog and the clouds and thinking that somewhere out there, Annie Venter was probably sleeping, not thinking about the time she told some stupid kid not to play with matches. I flicked the lighter on and off a few times to see if it would feel the same way the matches had all those years ago, but it didn't.
The smoke curled above me in the cold air, a visible metaphor for addiction as it hung off me. Everything in my life smelled like that anymore: like ashes.
I dropped the cigarette on the deck and I stared at the small red ember, letting it burn and smoke, letting it become
the last magic I believe inIt's been years and I'm still here. Recycling the same sentences. Stuck in the same words. Buried in a past that doesn't quite belong to me anymore. It's funny how with enough distance nothing ever looks real anymore. It's like the way I can stand four miles from the lakefront and can still see the horizon. Clashing blues and greens. A straight line of water against an even straighter line of sky. And that's it. It's everything and it's nothing and for a little while I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Somewhere new. That I can see an entire ocean sprawled out in front of me, instead of the dirty familiar waters of Lake Michigan. I've grown up here and I've grown apart from here, but I'm stuck at the top of the hill on the corner of the street that my sister lives on and I just want to run and run and run and never look back, but that's not all there is. That's not all that's left.
It's so much bigger than that so I trace the familiar roads back to my home and I sit in my living room and
the quiet musings of an almost dead womani feel the world. it weighs on me in the empty hours between dusk and dawn, the hours when the birds are nested and the grass can do no more than whisper beneath the touch of the wind.
i feel the world and it is both new and old, both stillborn and throbbing with well-lived life, and it is heavy with its own weightlessness.
i feel the world but the world does not feel me; i do not feel me. my skin is a prayer to the soft curves of the oceans and the hard ridges of the mountains instead of a testament to my being.
i feel the world echo within my confines-- i feel myself become the world.
My Knee Hurts and I Hate David BowieThey're at it again.
I've grabbed the broom and smacked the handle against the ceiling, but the neighbours upstairs take no notice. I think about calling the police, but I hate doing that without at least talking to them. Everybody deserves that chance, I think. Still, the prospect of standing outside their door and talking to them isn't one that sits comfortably. When I think I'm going to explode if I have to listen to another second, I give in.
I power up the stairs like nobody's business, and pound on their door. I'd knock like a normal person, but if they can't hear the broom hitting their floor, they won't hear a knock, either. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens and sound washes over me in a wave that's all but solid.
The figure in the doorway looks like a reject from an 80's concert. He's got a blinkin' mullet, and he sparkles... but he's got nothin' on the fella behind him. Bloody queer's wearing a dress, and more makeup than an entire row of beaut
AshesLife took a lot of turns on you, that was for sure. That I was today scattering the ashes of a woman I shouldn’t have met by fate’s standards, much less married, was the injustice that slithered beneath the surface of everything on planet earth.
I was born on a dirt farm to a loving family. Summers are my best memories, picking rattlesnake plantain and wild strawberries in the yard with my big sister and Mama. Scrounging in the dust and heat for dinner wasn’t unusual or bad, simply the way it was. We went to bed giving thanks directed by Mama; I still hear her soft voice though she’s been gone 15 years.
I feel the wooden footbridge sway under my feet, and can almost find Carolina’s face in the reflections shining off the water’s mirrored surface. We are given many good gifts in life. But the more you have, the more there is to lose. And when I found myself an adult orphan and still alone in middle age, the fight went out of me. Until Carolina.
The Cat Curls UpAnd a very good afternoon to you. You catch me looking at a catalogue of old chairs – nothing I would sell in my store, but from an aesthetics viewpoint it reminds me of some of the – things we used to think were fashionable.
Take this one for example – the infamous box seat, so popular in the early seventies for the style conscious and space conscious young person about town. Actually, the only thing they really turned out to be good for was walking into or falling off.
There was a flat I visited in the Knightsbridge area in the mid seventies, when Habitat, god rest their soul, were just starting out and making this sort of thing popular. I had thought it was empty, but after raiding the bedrooms I discovered the error of my ways – walking into the main room, I disturbed this eighteen year old girl, wearing a short sleeved white crotched top, pale blue mini skirt, white knee length socks and flat shoes, sitting on one of these box contraptions
[TGB] Leave The Light OnIt seemed only natural that she found him.
Her paws had been weary, her mind restless - home no longer felt like home and he .... he had always had a calming presence upon her soul. His smirking blue-green eyes soothed a fire in her soul and made everything shift when she hadn't been aware it was askew in the first place.
He held her steady, whether he knew it or not and right now Arya felt like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"Fancy seeing you again - if I didn't know any better I'd say you missed my dashing looks."
Perhaps it was in the way Arya fumbled for an appropriate response, or perhaps it was how her grass eyes misted over with unshed tears - full to the brim with emotion Arya usually kept hidden from her companion.
"Arya?" His brow furrowed slightly and he took a hesitant step forward. His firefly was strong ... for her to be so shaken ...
She wasn't sure when the tears had started, hadn't noticed their slow descent down her cheeks until Idek's nose was touchin
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More