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Literature Text
The trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent of a high priestess of Venetian origin.
The Girl was all those things and more, and her value, her estimate in the market of souls was higher than most. She was an angel amongst Gods, and He should never have let her go into the world thinking that it was Keats hearted. Because like all women who live their lives story shaped, she was soon broken by ridicule, humbled by ill experiences and riddled by judgement of the people who didn't understand.
It was odd then, that when the Boy told the Girl she deserved more, she shook her head till her long hair was a curtain around her face, hiding the tears that one cried only when they knew they were safe and would never have to cry again.
You see, she knew that the trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. But what he did possess was the determination of Joyce mixed with the sheer undaunted, witty, spirit of Dickens.
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent of a high priestess of Venetian origin.
The Girl was all those things and more, and her value, her estimate in the market of souls was higher than most. She was an angel amongst Gods, and He should never have let her go into the world thinking that it was Keats hearted. Because like all women who live their lives story shaped, she was soon broken by ridicule, humbled by ill experiences and riddled by judgement of the people who didn't understand.
It was odd then, that when the Boy told the Girl she deserved more, she shook her head till her long hair was a curtain around her face, hiding the tears that one cried only when they knew they were safe and would never have to cry again.
You see, she knew that the trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. But what he did possess was the determination of Joyce mixed with the sheer undaunted, witty, spirit of Dickens.
Literature
If you are a writer
If you're a passionate writer,
you know how it is,
to be surround by roaring words,
to be trapped in front of a screen,
to write and write,
without looking up,
without realizing
how the time rushes,
how it's getting dark and darker,
and then
bright again.
How it is,
when nothing else in the world seems so important,
like finding the right words,
to paint a feeling,
to write a picture,
to formulate a sentence so loud or so quiet,
that it stands out between the lines,
that it belongs there,
where it wants to stay.
How it is,
to tell about hope,
without sounding like past loves,
to describe a sunset
without the colours orange and red,
to l
Literature
How did you get those scars?
And I asked her,
"Do you remember
why I counted tiles-
sat in silence for hours,
wishing on the black holes
in my pockets?"
Stuttering against quiet delusions,
She bit a vintage tongue.
"Because,
I tried to bury myself alive that night,
just to engrave the taste of rose thorn monsters
between the cracks of my glass skin."
Licking dry lips,
She asked to taste them.
Literature
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
Giving them kisses in the dark
to numb their headache from
drinking too much and yet
not enough to kill lust.
She was always adored by boys, who,
if given the chance, would rebuild
the world for her.
But she wanted to be the heroine
and refused to see
she needed saving, too.
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For the Boy who thought he wasn't worth it and the Girl who believed in him.
From the Best Friend who watched you both grow up.
Congratulations on your wedding, you two literary fiends.
*
My friends got married and I decided to write this for them as one of their wedding presents.
From the Best Friend who watched you both grow up.
Congratulations on your wedding, you two literary fiends.
*
My friends got married and I decided to write this for them as one of their wedding presents.
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114 comment's... No wonder. This is just wow! 
