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because love is a lesson in trial and errorI wish I had the words to tell you what I mean. I used to store sentences between my breaths – things that I couldn’t say at the moment, but wanted to remember. Now I can barely string together enough nouns and verbs to make you understand exactly what you mean to me. And I’m afraid.

I’m afraid that if I can’t get it together fast enough I’ll lose you. It’s like you're water slipping through my fingers and I’m not quick enough to chase you through the currents. I know enough to know that you’re wild and free in a way that I’ll never be and maybe I’m jealous of that. Or maybe I
Futuro-Mamá esa chica se parece mucho a la tía Isabella -cuando escucho decir esto a Amanda, dirigiéndose a la Candace del futuro, una sola idea salta en mi cabeza haciendo eco e inevitablemente tengo que decirla en voz alta.
-Oíste eso Candace, voy a casarme con Phineas!
-O Ferb -me responde ella dejando mi mente en blanco.
Dirijo mi vista al peliverde y este me giña un ojo mientras hace un gesto con su mano señalándome. Bueno lo que dice Candace es verdad, para ser tía de Amanda tendría que casarme con Phineas o... Ferb.
Miro fijamente al chico frente a mí y de pronto todo desa
She was distant.Her emotions sat on the ceiling.
LindaI’m not what you would call a special woman - I live in a small town, with my husband, have an ordinary job and live an ordinary wife.  In one way, however, I guess you could say I have an extraordinary life - because every midsummer’s day, I seem to get robbed in my own house.  I don’t know what I do to deserve it, but that’s what happens.

I still remember the first year it happened - we had just moved into the house, with my daughter who was then about twelve, and she had gone to a friend’s house while my husband was out to work.  I was taking the day off, doing some things around the house, and in those days
Music Shuffle (Kyrie)Cage the Elephant – “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked”
      The sun finally sank below the horizon. Under the cover of a moonless darkness, the proxies slipped stealthily between the trees. The densely packed forest offered excellent protection from peering eyes, and so familiar were they with the many pitfalls and snaring brambles that they glided along effortlessly.
       Masky took the lead, guiding his two charges along toward the night’s goal. Hoodie followed at a short distance, his video camera fully charged and stocked with a fresh tape. Close beside him was Kyrie, bringing up the rear and making sure the
The Blood on Our HandsBut it feels so good.

To touch the open slit is pleasurable beyond belief. Of all of my fantasies, it was never conceivable that I wanted this. It was never that I felt so satisfied drenched in the afterglow of my adrenaline-bred homicide.

The swooping curdling in my veins remains beyond the last breath of him. It feels like I need more, like the blood on my hands isn't enough to slake the drought in my bones that vengeance has brought. My fingertips touch at the open gash in the left-center of his chest, swimming there with dainty strokes in the fresh, bubbling blood.

What have I done...? And why do I need more? Why does it feel like the
they marked me blue and yellow, mama.between graffitied walls and a lone, chipped sink, they watched me curl in upon myself and combust. it was the only way i knew of to stop the swirling in my hips and heels.
a week later i found emma, the smallest of the vultures, kneeling at my altar. and with her wing-bones hunching and heaving, she mimicked my combustion.
but her eyes were violet when she saw me. violet and brimming with the emptiness of her heels. and i knew. i knew that this could not hold her the way it held me. 
and mama, that hurt more than anything. her heels were empty, mama. empty. empty. empty. the way mine should have been, if only you had kept papa away.
if only you had kept away the first vulture i had ever know. if only, mama. if only.
Sweet Nothings'if i could, i would devour you. i would eat you whole, consume you mind, body, and soul. because i am a selfish person. i want you all to myself. no one else may have you.'   he said to her, as they lay tangled in each other.
her reply came with a sleepy smile.
'there is a part of my mind which understands the intended romance in your statement. that part is wooed by it. there is also a part which insists upon my realizing the reality, the literal. you, my dear, are a cannibal.'
he placed a kiss on her head.
'well, we'll have to work hard then, to make sure that you are only wooed. we will make you want to be eaten. we will make it so that part of your mind which is literal, is quiet, so when i whisper sweet nothings into your ears, you are completely swept away. lifted off your feet by my obvious romantic intention.'
The Cat and IA biography of myself.

Real Name:  I’m not telling, but KP stands for Kev Pickering

Nickname:  I refer you to the previous answer

Birthday:  July 16, 1963

Current Residence:  North West London, United Kingdom

Height:  5’ 8”

Weight:  Trying to lose it, thank you

Hair Color:  Dark brown but turning grey as it recedes.

Eye Color:  Hazel

Likes:  Films, musicals, fine literature, my family, and graphic novels.

Dislikes:  Shellfish, Lager, “Scripted Reality” shows.

Personality:  I’m very shy until someone gets to know me, but those who do tell me I can be a very kind, gentle and yet silly person.

Biog
Smoke-stacked LungsLighting her cigarette, Mara watched the smoke trail up into the sky and block the blue the storm clouds couldn’t reach. She sucked in the unfiltered ash, closed her eyes, and marveled at the warmth that traveled down into her chest. The ash held her closer than anyone in the city had. She smiled, cracking open her eyes, but all that greeted her was wind blowing out the embers of her cigarette as tar slithered down her throat. She coughed, crushing the cigarette on the dashboard. She started her black Ford’s ignition, and watched the exhaust lingering around the car before the wind carried it away. With goose bumps, Mara sped onto
The ThunderstormI picked up the new dial phone I barely used to call her father. Thunder roared as the rain completely drenched my window. I bit my lip and my heart raced as I picked up a signal. The dial rang for awhile, and I was almost a little worried I wouldn't be able to get a hold of him. However, at the last minute, I heard a deep, cheerful voice from the other end.
"Hello?"
"Hello, sir. This is Mr. Rob MacLachlan, CEO of the Fitzpatrick Company. I'm just calling to say that your daughter might have to spend the night, here."
There was a dreadful pause on the phone.
"Pardon?"
"Have you listened to the radio, recently?"
"Nah, we can't 'ford a telephon
I need you home...the ceiling's dirty.Pairing: Phan/Anti-Phan??

Genre: Angst

Rating: 12+??

Warning: Possibly triggering

Disclaimer: I do not own Dan or Phil (sadly). This never happened and is purely fictional.

Summary: Dan's lost. He doesn't know how long it's been. He needs someone to save him.

~

I don’t know how long it’s been. 3 days? 2 weeks? 5 months? I can’t remember the last time I got up from his bed. It smells just like him, vanilla and raspberries - it’s like he’s still here. But he’s not.

He left a long, long time ago. We’d been arguing for a while, I’d said - well more like shouted - some mean things, he’d
The problem with Elia is thatshe could have been a violin.
RecursionRecursion

Day 12

I hate those infernal hounds.

I can hear them approaching. I regret now that I have not walled off this little corner of the forest that I have chosen to call my own. I am tired, I am hungry, and I am weak from the venom of those spiders. I fear I have just enough time to fashion a spear before they come for me.

Wilson's hands shook as he read the words in the dying firelight. The darkness pressed in against him all around, crawling inward as the fire sputtered.

Those were the last words on the page. Dark spots marred the edges of the papyrus, dried deep into the reeds. A thick swipe of brown streaked along the bottom as
Winter-childi found her in november, wrapped in a sweater.
they wheeled her away on a cart too big for her; two days old, half-dead and blue as the ocean.
i waited, her sweater held in hands that shook and shimmied.
they brought her back to me a week later; nine days old, pink-skinned and plump.
i named her in big letters on a yellow form as she slept in the crook of my arm; mavis.
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Tower In this city, there is one distinctive feature, a radio tower smack dap in the middle. It's hard not to miss it; the red and white piercing the blue skies, the light blinking on and off. Most people hate it. I look up to it. It alone stands above everything and everyone, especially here in this park.
I want to rise above everything and everyone.
But for now, I can only gaze up at its magnificence, waiting for my day to rise.
Confess Every year I confess to him. Every year I spill my heart out to him. He must think I'm crazy. He never says anything. He smiles and only says thank you, it's nice to hear that. I had been doing it for three years now. This is my last chance, we graduate in May. Today is my last confession to him.
"Jack," I said. "I like you."
"Thank you." He said smiling. "It's nice to hear."
"This is my last confession," I added.
"Last time I'll hear this?" He wondered.
I nodded.
He leaned down and kissed my cheek. "Thank you again." He said. "This is all I can offer."
I blushed. "It's more than I ever dreamed."
Birds of a Feather We've been friends since elementary. We've seen each other at our highest and lowest points, at beginning and endings. We've both have had our share of love and hate. We've both have had the occasional misplaced feelings, quickly shelving those emotions once the words escaped our mouths. Today, after twenty years of friendship, we've decided to move in together. It was something we've always talked and joked about.
"Would you two get a room already?" Janis, one of my girl friends, often said. I know what she really meant, but for us to take it to this extreme is something else.
At first, it was like an extended sleep over. When we were y
Boys Being Boys "1…2…3…" Randy counted.
"Whatcha countin'," George asked.
"All them bugs," Randy pointed at the log.
"That's alotta 'em." George started to count too.
"Hey, yur gonna mess me up."
"Sorry," George tried to count in his head.
George and Randy counted the creepy crawlers until the sun set. They could hear their mothers calling in the distance.
"How many ya git, Randy?"
"Forty-two, I lost count few times."
"I gots," He scratched his head. "I forget."
The boys laughed as they headed home for supper.
His Words The light illuminates Josie's face as she conceals herself under her sheets. She grasps her phone tightly, her thumb pressing the desired buttons. Her eyes read the words across the screen; her chest tightens at the notion of each one. Josie tries to remember to breathe, words attempting to steal away her precious air.
Feels so long ago he sent her those loving words. Now, she reads them, wondering, contemplating, what happened between the couple. The words so sweet on the screen, tickled her. The words so bitter, echoed in her mind, leaking from her eyes.
Her thumb moves, the screen asking to erase his words. Josie buries her face into
Achoo She sneezed for what felt like the millionth time. She blew her nose into a wet tissue. Mucus unloaded onto the moist sheet. The tissue felt completely used, no room left for anything else. She crumpled the rag and tossed it toward the waste basket. But like most balls of sheer paper and clear fluids, it hit the rim and landed on the floor, adding to the mountainous pile of snot.

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February 19, 2012
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Wedding Belles

:iconmegumitierana:

Sorry saving this one for publication :(
:iconmegumitierana:
Day 50 – Wedding Dress

Yep, saving this one
Note me if you wanna read it...granted I'm only allowing my closest friends read it.
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