omgitzlozzeh

So here he is, looking at you with his blue doe-eyes, mouth agape, fingers pressed to where your bra strap should be. But he's also there, standing in the doorway. with his bag at his side, the last of his clothes taken roughly from the closet. You can see both-all. You can see him leaving, see him staying, see yourselves when you never met. You see the one night stand with the man you didn't know, wouldn't know, but knew like a brother at all the same time. You see the fragments of the lamp lost in the World War Three that followed, see them jump back together, as if they shouldn't be apart. You see his mouth hot against your skin, and

The photograph frames lay callapsed against the fireplace, perhaps blackened by the flickering flames, or else scattered by the paths of many feet. I reach up a hand, twirling a finger around a cobweb decorating a corner of the fireplace, before allowing my hand to drop, letting the cobweb slip away into the darkness at my feet. This wasn't my home... No noises assalted my ears, bringing with it the textures that I couldn't name yet. There were no gurgling laughs of childeren, no pattering of several feet against the laminate flooring. Not even shouting from the locked bedrooom could be heard, as if the locked door would help us not to hear

I spent the night collapsed around your fingers, your hands drumming on my hips and eyes capturing my very thought-processes. You were vaguely aware of the emotions I spilled, contemplating whether to accept them as fact, or an attempt to manipulate you. I don't know myself. There's something so very beautiful about the night sky. A mixture of fear and excitement course thought me as I etch the familiar path made unfamiliar with the absence of light. The moonlight beams crashed against the pavement, giving it a sickly glow, and fear takes away my breath, excitement prickling the hairs at the back of my neck. Does it hurt to know that I cho

"Dah-dee-dee-dah-hm." Xandir closed his eyes, tucing the stem of the daisy behind his left ear, before opening his eyes once again. "Hmmm." He licked his finger, curling a lock of blonde hair around his finger, alowing the small curl to brush against his eyebrows. He curled his eyelashes, before pouting slightly in the mirror. "Perfect!" Xandir stood, flicking his hair to the side slightly and petting the daisy. Spanky ran after the small orange rodent-like being carrying the bucket of slop, a scowl evident on his expression. "Come back here Ling-Ling!" Ling-Ling turned his head, sticking out his tongue. Spankey's eyes widened, falling on th

Love. A four letter word that almost always preoccupied the innermost thoughts of pathetic mortals. Their hopes and dreams rested on that one simple word. How pathetic. The girl's thoughts ran something along these lines. But, as one could tell, it was much easier to destroy the romantic prospect of love when one hasn't felt it herself. Yet still, she thought herself a master in such topics, having spent most of her school days by the window, watching others with their friends and acquaintances. It was Valentines Day. Yes, the day of such gaieties and beauty that one couldn't help but be overcome by the atmosphere. Yet it was different for

When you're late, I assume the worst. You'll never come back. You'll never walk through that door, bringing the familiar ray of sunshine-the familiar warmth. You know this. You know I hate you being late. So you never are, right? The feeling of sinking is horrible. The duvet is smothering, curled around both my throat and my ankles in it's vice-like grip. I pretend it's your arms. They pull me closer into a warmth that's strictly yours, lulling me into a sense of security. The storm riots around me, but your scent blows it away like the raging wind surrounding me. It's less painful than seeing you, so I stay away. I know that you're ly

In some lost corner of your mind there is a box. You often look at that box, often touch it, but never allow yourself to lift the brown flap. You musn't peek inside. But somewhere else in your mind is somebody who wants to know what's in that box. Still, somewhere deeper, some part of you already knows. And sure enough, as years pass, and cobwebs glue over the lid, a strong wind will blow, and the contents will spill out. And there will be the green and orange yo-yo we shared as children, still broken. There will be the long platt of blonde hair that you cut from me when we were ten. There's the treasure map we made- it's treasure's still

The winding path of consciousness seemed to elude him, it's delicious silver light illuminating the mix of present and past. He was aware, momentarily, of the feint smell of gunpowder to his left, whilst swords were unsheathed to his left. Straight ahead, however, lay the dim light of the Animus. Lucy's shaking hands pressed against the light, it's reflection dancing in the silver tint of her nails. Somewhere Doctor Vidic was explaining: "What you see before you Desmond is simply a mixture of what has been, what will be and what could be. Think of it like a mirror, if you will…" Desmond twitched his fingers, and watched himself do it.