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It starts as a quiet humming in the darkness- a disruption in the air, tense with expectation- only felt by those who start it.
A sudden, luminescent thought- inspiration is a fickle beast, and none can argue with who it chooses to show itself to.
But there, there it starts. It all begins behind a closed door, in another realm without others to interrupt. He throws off his half-hearted doubts and restraining weights- a muted strum of an old acoustic guitar flees from his exploring fingertips.
Hesitantly, he tunes the guitar and strums three notes, building music where there was once nothing. Dim flashes of light fill the dark corners of

Quiet Comfort

Glimpses of sharp green and black. Sharp and smooth, though he hides behind a mask. Watching, waiting, but never telling. Broken shards of forgotten lives along with the solid glue of will, stitched back together in the shape of a man. Select people see him when they least expect it, out of the corner of their eye in the decision of their short life- a quiet, clear detail in their memory. The shadowy corners are where he resides, lost in his thoughts. You may even be able to see him- past the dark, shielding coat and the downcast hat.
If you're lucky- and if you're the right person- you may even see his slow, quietly stupefying smile.

word woesliterature is the most delightful infection.

the underside of bones.i. what glow once kindled so astringent,
hot-coals beneath the feet
now pleads in the whispers
of a light desperate not to go out.
how quickly does the mind flip.
society's winds blow
and the blank stares and misconception blow
and she's stumbling around on bird legs
in the hurricane's aftermath,
keeping up a semblance of assurance
like she's expected to.

ii. and it's fine, she says,
it's fine, that light doesn't matter and
hasn't ever mattered, it wasn't
for the illumination but rather the knowledge
she was not alone in the dark.
but it's not fine
because somewhere in between
repressed thoughts and stifled sentiments
may

a knot of cold desirei. acknowledgement -

i woke from the slumber of growth
when i was ninteen,
and realized i could not go back
to the beliefs of the child or
the fantasies of the dreamer,
or the hopes naivety persists with although
they're fruitless.

part of me wanted to take your hand
because i was afraid of the inevitable drift
which accompanies two bodies parting
physical ways and metaphorical hearts,
and perhaps if our fingers were intertwined
we'd stay that way, too.
but we've never been affectionate;
and although i can say what you're thinking before
you think it, you don't know me
half as well as i know you.

so we sat side by side
and

PerspectivesIt's amazing how things change so easily, reality so fluid is mere trickery and falsehoods and our lies are based on the states of our lives and where we stand in them. Daunting buildings could box us in and trap us in corners of fear but then a hand reaches through the clouds and pulls us out with just a step- it makes you feel inept in hindsight but no director ever shot knew how to film from birth. It's all one big process, a parody of your school years and you're always just learning, to write your name, to sign a form, to miss the dead then cry for them. It's not an exercise in futility, though some may see it that way, the inevitability

Reasons Not To Commit Suicide1) The people who are causing you trouble won't be sorry if you do.
2) Some one somewhere will be sorry and it's probably someone you wish wouldn't be.
3) It's not illegal to be a moron, so the people causing you problems will not suffer if you do.
4) The problems of this life are always temporary. Some may last only hours or minutes.
5) If a problem persists, focus on the moments of freedom between the flair ups.
6) If you have no purpose, find one and enjoy it.
7) If one purpose isn't enough, find more.
8) No problem lasts forever.
9) Are you sure where you will be going after you're done?

Everlasting creationRoom was quiet and silence of it was disturbed only by the sound of tapping of the keyboard. Girl, sitting behind the laptop shuddered and tucked feet under herself. Inside big headphones on her head was quietly playing some sad tune. Room was silent and quiet, only the tapping of the keyboard and rain beating its rhythm on the window. It was also completely empty - nothing was inside this room but the table and chair on what girl was sitting. That house was abandoned for long time ago. As was also she... Tap-tap-tap. Quiet sound filled all in the world, typing the words, typing the meaning of life, new life and new history. Somewhere, someda

Waking upAwaking - it always is not pleasant. Especially, if your dreams are so lucid, so real, so full of everything you ever dreamed of. But for me this dream lasted for too long and now it is time to wake up. But, I don't want to...
-Wake up... - Voice in my head shrieks.
Reality tries to butt in. I rub forehead with palm, while Leeds grins:
-See? You are just your own nightmare, lass. You made this all up - me, sister, Magic, even your Dad is just something you made up, - He burst laughing and I psyched out:
-SHUT UP!
Head exploded with another ache spasm:
-Wake up, Elizabeth!
-Oh no, I will not shut up. You don't want me to, want me to tell more.

like flame.Let it crash, let it crash
let it crash and fall and burn
with bullets and shattered glass,
let it burn

On littered pavement
and cracked streets
hot asphalt and weeds
let it shatter and smash

let it crash, let it smash
let it fall like dead leaves
let it die, let it fly
let it live, let it live, let it live

Let it shatter, let it crack
let it blossom like flame
let it bloom, let it grow
let it all float away.

Asphalt streets with painted yellow lines,
and old times lost. Like children's toys
and girls and boys with no where to go.
Don't lose hope, it's all in good time.

Time, time, time. Beginning, middle, end.
Keep it si

: : N O R M A L C Y : :It wasn't always this way. This strange apprehensive feeling; it's surreal, something I can't shake. It's like I am living a dream. I am confused on how to describe the vertigo of my reality. It makes me question if my life is a dream. That couldn't possibly be. I have been living my life normally for years. Am I in a coma? No, no that couldn't be. I feel reality an normalcy just as usual. But the bitter taste of apprehension is lurking in a corner somewhere. Then what is this emotion? It's as if something big is going to happen, something important. But what could happen, as far as I know, nothing...

A Writer's ManifestoThey look into my eyes yet do not see.

These words I write tell a story. Enter my world.

It is a place of wonder and discovery. Leave all preconceptions at the door. Ride in on the wings of imagination.
Can you see it? Look deeper, see clearly.

They look into my eyes yet do not know me.

I am more than their stereotype. The box they place me in -- dimensionless. My words span more than this time.
Can you listen? Look deeper, hear clearly.

They look into my words, yet do not understand.

These characters. Alive. Speak of adventure. See things we can only imagine. Experience the wonders of the human spirit.
Do you recognize them? Loo

Dreams and RealityDreams and reality are different. However this does not make reality less beautiful or dreams less enchanting. It just makes the dreams real. We just make our dreams real.
When we say I dream of being there or I dream of going, of achieving something somewhere, be someone to somebody, find out who I am, we say dream because it seems so far away, so unreachable. If I had to choose one word for this feeling it would be inconceivable.
Therefore we disregard our thoughts as nothing more than a passing thought or a fancy that is not possible.
Now the questions that come to my mind are "Why give up before you even tried? Is it better to never try and regret or to try, fail or succeed, and know that you gave your all? Is it risking everything, your money, friends, family, and your life as you had it, really the only way to achieve something? Is risking what everyone is scared off?"
We are selfish beings, yet we are capable of helping and so called good hearted thinking, ho

humans are procrastinators.we are all procrastinators, if you say you aren't you're either a liar or blind.
we all, at some point or another decide: those dishes can wait, ill set my alarm in a minute, ill talk to him about it tomorrow, or the most famous, ill do the report latter.

now at the time, that decision is fine, but then you run out of spoons, you wake up late for your job interview and it tanks, you cant talk to him about it because he overslept, then its turn in day and you're exhausted cuz you did the report at 12:00 that morning.

procrastination is inevitable, so be ready when it hits you.

p.s. do use all a favor? don't bitch when it does.

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Fear

Hiding behind invisible walls, knees drawn against shuddering chest. Her pale, shaking fingers cover hidden expressions, moving only to brush back stray and frazzled hairs. Protectively curled over herself, stiff back against a stone cold wall. Long hair curtains her shadowed face, shielding her from the light along with the dark. She darts a shy glance through the windowed curtains- tear stained blue eyes, tinted with the lightest of greens.
With weary eyes, she pleads for you.

Quiet Comfort

Eternal Waiting

Waiting. Watching as you fade, your heart ticking away with the clock.
Tick tick tick…
Slower and slower, the seconds go by.
A yearning, tugging, pulling you towards something - you may know what, you may not. You wait for it, it waits for you. Sometimes you even cause it, sometimes you prevent it.
You may not have realized before, but time is as strong as gravity- maybe stronger- it utterly controls you, you always think of it. How much is left?
Tick tick tick…
Days, months, years?
You check the clock- a minute has gone by, a millennia in your mind. I must wait.
Closed eyes, attempting to blind time with soft darkness- al

A Chance Beginning

It was a fine summer morning that I first saw him, changing my life forever. He walked with a strut that I distinctly remember- as if the whole world would bend to his will alone. Little did he know (and as he would one day hate) that he was just the messenger for change, and not the delivery.
I was just a girl of fifteen or..err..sixteen or so; I didn't have any real family to keep track, and I've long lost count. Tattered jeans and dusty t-shirts- that was me, alright. That was _____-cigarette in hand; not a care about today, tomorrow, or the day after.
Then he came.
A smirk on his face and that strut, that's all I can remember from

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A Girl and a Boy

by =EvelynTaliette, May 23, 2012, 5:19:53 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

I'm just a girl.
Not pure of mind or pearl of skin, nor with silk as hair or lips of red.
Not your princess in a tower- never lost to be found- always calm, always sure.
A girl with a story, but none to be heard.
Eyes of blue, waves of white- watching a puddle, blending with the sky.
You were just a boy.
A boy of thoughts and a boy of shadows, a boy- eyes dark as night.
Lack of laughter, a smile of sunsets, seldom seen.
Wandering through the hours of midnight- hands shoved in pockets, foggy breath his only light.
Stumbling through the minutes of early dawn or late dusk, opposites can attract.

A Girl and a Boyby =EvelynTaliette

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

Grasping hands slipping apart as dusk and dawn fades away.

Had a bit of a writer's block, so I forced this out. Decent- yes, no, maybe so?
As you can see, the girl is pretty much Day and the boy is basically Night- I considered going more into their story, but this seemed like enough. What say you, reader?

*Image is not mine, found here: [link] *