[x]

In ThreesI was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.

I was armed with shards of strength,

The Past, The FutureDo you remember when you were little and your best friend told you she didn't want to be friends anymore? It hurts like something was nesting on your heart and had clawed its way into your soul. There is an childish elegance to the sadness that you assumed only existed for grown ups when they talk about grown up things. In the glorious contant of humanity, the existence of her will corrode and become a faded memory that you will only remember when you hurt again.

And then you will lose your dog, your best friend, your confidant. It will happen suddenly and you will be left with nothing but the hole in your heart of a lost companion who you a

Moving On"It all seems to be in order. Let me just read your last file."

"Thank you."

"It says here you used to have a girlfriend who was raped whilst you were with her?"

"Er…yes."

"Did she love you?"

"Yes. More than I could handle, I suppose."

"According to your file you told her she wasn't the one, and that her overfamiliarity with men led her to be in this situation?"

"Er…yes? But it's not like I told her she deserved to be raped, it was more-"

"Just yes or no answers would do. Did you do anything prior to this incident to make this girl feel loved?"

"Yes… I didn't cheat. I think that's enough for any relationship."

"It als

A History of ImaginariumWhen we were young, we believed. In myths, in legends, in stories beyond the wildest imagination of the best story teller in the world. Tomorrow always held surprises, new stories, and new worlds for our imaginations to explore. Everything began with 'Once upon a time' and ended with 'Happily ever after.' We lived in a land where we all owned pet tyrannosaurus rexes, maybe a few dragons, a sword that rivaled Excalibur and faeries and pixies, who just happened to make great playmates. Fae food for some reason always seemed to be so much better than your average meal, and who needs an adult to talk sense to, when you could have a talking lion?

Skinny Wordslook:

he was winterish blue eyes and an autumn scarf dressed in an stupid pink summer sweater that made no sense on a spring day. His shoes were converse, the kind of the skinny intellectual who had just enough money to buy one pair of decent shoes. she never really liked skinny intellectuals, yet did find herself considering them sometimes, in the way she considered coffee that was tongue scalding (horribly and without excuse).

it is odd then, that she still doesn't regret his monsoon flavoured kiss, the kind that made your tongue bleed with its passion, its heat.

understand:

he drew in uneasy catches of breath as he snored in the heat o

FailureShe was the Thief Girl with no faith and half a heart, and she didn't care if they never ever saw her soul anyway. She was almost content in the half broken life she had created for herself. Her fingers were always drenched in ink, her mind was always preoccupied with her treasure. Words stolen from conversations, from homes, from mouths that didn't need to speak any more.

She found the Lost Boy somewhere in an alley of poetry and a war of lyrics, fighting for his life with a broken piano and a worn tuxedo. She stole him before the bass viols, the gleaming guitars and the thrashing drums could kill him.

He fought with her all the way, telli

Cinnamon Souls"You're mixing water in your coke again."

"I know."

"You do that when you worry."

"I'm always worried."

"No, you're usually cinnamon-in-your-tea worried. This is water-in-coke worried and that is seriously beginning to freak me out."

"I know."

"..."

"What?"

"What are you worried about?"

"You're going to think it's stupid."

"Try me."

"Well...do you ever wonder about the kind of guy you're waiting for?"

"I think we all wonder about that guy, love."

"I've been thinking about him more often than not lately. What he would be like, I mean."

"Oh. Well...if it helps any, I know what mine would be like."

"Really?"

"Sure. He will be tal

EternityThis is to the child I loved, the one I lost before I was meant to.
This is for the little girl who would have danced with me to the songs we were both meant to love.
This is for the angel who I was meant to have changed for, the little one whose heart was in my own.
This is for the girl who would have skipped to school, the baby who would have laughed.
This is for the song I couldn't sing, the poem I could never write.
This is for the moment in time that never existed, in a car that never moved.
This is for the second that could have been a lifetime, the forever that should have been ours.
This is for the darling who should have bee

Hemingway Would Hate ThisThe 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 o

Online"I have a problem."

"You always were a worrier."

"Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Not if it's going to worry me as well."

"That's precisely why you should know it."

"I really think I'll pass."

"But-"

"No."

"…"

"Thank you."

"But…this time it's a really big deal."

"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"

"What did you think the first time you met me?"

"That's not a problem, that's a question."

"I know."

"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"

"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"

"Shut it, smart ass."

"Then answer the q

ObsessionIt takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day. Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.

You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.

Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the d

Bones"There are good days and there are bad days," you would say to me as you would try and explain away why the whiskey bottle was empty again this morning, why you smelled like her and why you thought it was best to let me know what you had done. At least that way, you were absolved of the gift of lying; the one your bones were too light to lift and just couldn't take, by bestowing me with betrayal.

My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and

Rebirth"You won't tell us then? What it's like?"

"..."

"Is it because you have something to hide?"

"..."

"Or is it because it never actually happened?"

"It happened."

"Then tell us. Tell us what is it like."

"I was always the girl whose family asks 'What is wrong with you.' instead of 'What is wrong with you?'"

"And this has nothing to do with my ques-"

"If they had all just asked...I would tell them. I would tell them that my heart was torn into hundreds and thousands. And my lungs were still crushed from footholds. And my brain still sees two little girls laughing and playing. And my legs hurt from dragging myself from basement

Running Away"What are you afraid of?" He had asked her as they lay there, under a bay window that showed a velvet black sky, sprinkled with sparkling diamonds. After a few minutes, a hand reached out and took his. He looked down at the soft hand, paper white with rivulets of sapphire under the skin. It had never occurred to him just how much he loved her hands until now.

"Would you like the truth? Or will a lie suffice?" A dulcet voice whispered. She had still not turned to look at him, but her hand in his remained strong.

"The truth." He always asked her for the truth. He didn't want rubies of falsehood, of lies, to ruin what they had taken so long to

My InspirationYou once asked me what inspired me, sweet love;
And I shall tell what you want to hear...

It is a girl who isn't clever, but clever in what she knows
and a lost boy who knows exactly where he is going to go.
It is the scent of cologne and smoke and lovemaking
and a man who wears his heart on his sleeve
It is a woman who has always believed in her lover
and he will let her down no more
It is a sick man who is whole again
and the wife who stayed by his side
It is a writer who has found a brand new muse
and the paint of the artist who draws her lover
It is the words of a poet whose trust is renewed
and the warmth in the words of the

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Gateway"Do you know what victory is?" asked a soft voice behind her.

The girl with the broken eyes didn't look up. She couldn't. She didn't want to. Her whole body was tattooed with the rain that had started hours before, her hair dripping with the sky's tears. She hadn't wanted to dry the sorrow of the weather from her skin; for fear that someone would see her own.

"I asked, do you know what victory is?" The voice was soft, but strong. And there was something about it that reminded her that she needed to pay attention.

She still didn't speak and a disappointed sigh came from the voice. It was as if the rain had stolen her voice.

"Victory is, wh

Unbreakable"Hello."

"Do I know you?"

"You don't sing anymore."

"I'm..."

"It's just that I noticed. You don't sing anymore."

"I…have nothing left to sing about."

"Why?"

"Because I'm just a broken voice since he has gone."

"You are not a broken voice."

"You don't understand-"

"Your music sings through your bones. Don't give someone the power to take it away."

"But it hurts to sing."

"Your music saves you from falling. Don't push your savior away."

"I cannot…not anymore."

"Your music makes you into the beautiful girl with eyes that make us smile. Don't let your gift fail you."

"Please…stop."

"Your music, your voice is who you

RivalryHis name is Jack. I know that usually, I don't disclose much to you. But Jack is someone I need to tell you about. I have known Jack my whole life. He's been a best friend to me when the concept of best friends was nothing but some candy, and who led the gang in the playground. Commitment was a pair of bicycles thrown on the lawn and a race to the spiced lemonade his mother made so well. When we were young, we knew we were going to conquer the world. The battle was always, who would conquer it first?

Jack's father was an alcoholic. I will never forget that rainy afternoon when I opened the door to find him standing there, rain soaked tears s

Epiphany No. 289If I had known you before my heart had been broken once.
I would not have been the girl who you liked enough to say hello to.
If I had known you before my heart had been broken twice.
I would not have been the girl who understood your beautiful sad eyes.
If I had known you before my heart had broken thrice.
I would not have been the girl who felt your music in her sore heart.
If I had known you before my soul was ripped from me.
I would not have been the girl who appreciates you the way I do.

If I hadn't been damaged,
You would never have wanted to know me.

They say the universe works in mysterious ways.
And you, you are my mysteri

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Moments

by *UntamedUnwanted, Apr 20, 2012, 4:13:50 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

"You know what, my love? I think I'm going to give you the twenty third of March."

The little boy looked up at me from his cereal and tilted his head slightly, as though pondering this. Then, he frowned. "Mama. That's not possible. How can you give me a day? Days can't be gifts!"

He got that incorrigible logic from his father. I smiled and wiped my hands on the dishcloth, moving to sit besides him. He was at that age where his eyes were huge, questioning and innocent, that age where pain was sometimes only healed when measured in love. I ran my hand through his thick, dark hair. "Yes, you can."

The spoon filled with milk and chocolate cereal clattered back into the bowl as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "No, you cannot. Da told me so."

"Yes, you can. I'm giving one to you, aren't I?"

"But how?"

"It's easy. A day is made of hours. And those hours are made of moments. Moments are so special, my sweet love. They are tiny, and they are supposed to be insignificant, but they are not. They are spectacular. In these moments, you are happy and sad. You smile and cry. And it is these moments that your life comes down to. You won't ever remember a whole day. But you will remember the moment you smiled the most, the moment you laughed the hardest, the person who made you happiest."

His eyes were bigger, with awe. "Really mama?"

I nodded. "If you live it the right way, a moment can be the best year of your life. And I'm going to give you a whole day of the happiest moments ever. Do you know how many moments a day has in it?"

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "A million."

He inherited his gift of exaggeration from me.

He looked down at his cereal. "So you're going to give me a million years, mama?"

"If you let me. Yes." An odd little headache had placed itself squarely in the middle of my forehead. I blinked. He was smiling at me. Words were coming out of his mouth, and I couldn't hear them anymore. Perhaps if I just closed my eyes for a moment...

My eyes opened to find an empty table, a cold chair and the sun a little dimmer than it was before. It is only in this moment that I could distinguish my dream from reality. It swam back to me from the abyss of a sleep soaked daze. The blood, the loss of consciousness, the medication, the white, bleach scented walls.

A shaken, broken breath arched my back as I stood. Tears felt uncomfortably close. And then...I stopped.

A moment can be the best year of your life.

The twenty minutes I spent with you in a dream were the best years of my life.

Even God can be kind sometimes.

Momentsby *UntamedUnwanted

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

For my son, Ayaan. You were a blessing given to me for just a few months. I can promise you, you would have been loved, cared for and looked after more than any child I know.

I lost you on the 23rd of March. From now to posterity, that will always be your day.

The pain will heal. We will love once more. But never ever forget... that we have loved this way before.

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~~fear 0 0~~

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~KageMoon Mar 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

It was approximately a year ago when I first read this… Your experience, your words, your emotions touched my heart to a great degree… It moved me to extend words of remorse and comfort to you and it moved soo many others to do the same… I’m not sure if you remember what I said about our fear of becoming insignificant, About how giving recognition and significance to the things we don’t want to become in vain…
I remember making you a promise, that as long as you have “Moments” to share with others, that your lost and the memory of your lost love, will never become insignificant.
Well today is “the little boy’s” day “The 23rd of March”!!! You kept your promise to him by giving him this day and that moves me to keep my promise as well to keep his memory significant!
I wanted to share something with you...
This link has a beautiful comforting artcle that i know will bring you comfort reading it couldn't be at a better time...
[link]

*insolitus85 Oct 24, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

Your way of writing is so beautiful. It always draws me in the story, more vivid than a movie can ever be. You are truly gifted!

I'm sorry for your loss. Wish you all the best!

~TouchedBy-AnAngel Oct 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Woops! Forgot one more thing:

+ fave

~TouchedBy-AnAngel Oct 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Wow... I cannot explain the emotions I felt when I read the description after completing the story... I don't what to say... Except that I'm very, very sorry. The pain will never go away, but it does get easier, which passing day.