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Tasks of the GrievingShe moved about the room systematically, placing things in her satchel. It wouldn't take long, the bag wasn't large and her need to leave was urgent. She couldn't bear the memories anymore. It was all too hard now, besides she had work to do. It's what he would have wanted.Tasks of the Grieving by ~rebecca-rideout
She finished packing her bag and left the room with only a momentary pause and glance behind her. She did a circuit of the small house, checking she had everything she would require and that it was tidy. While she was away she was putting the house in the care of her aunt to board out, she would need the money as she travelled. Her circuit inevitably lead her to that clos
34. StarsMemphis crept out onto the balcony, quietly watching his mother. She was leaning against the railing, staring up at the sky. He walked up behind her, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She jumped slightly, smiling as she turned to look down at him.34. Stars by ~Bibi15
"What are you doing out of bed, sweetheart?" she asked, ruffling his hair slightly. Memphis shrugged, looking up at the spot she had been staring at.
"What were you looking at?" he asked, squinting slightly as he tried to focus.
"Oh, nothing," she sighed, "Just thinking about home." Memphis stuck out his lower lip in a small pout as the corners of his mouth turned down into a frown.
"Do you miss
unfinished thoughtsi.unfinished thoughts by ~Vlavisfaults
wake up. i can't stay long.
we are a series of fleeting moments that spell out "bad timing" and "tragic romance". you are broken machinery and i am still trying to decipher the binary code for love. ones and zeros collide into a lump in my throat and suddenly, the idea of saying goodbye makes my fingertips ache and my wrists burn.
do you remember when we kissed? it was a messy pile of metaphors and we were scared that somebody would see us and try to clean us up. i still ghost the back of my hand over my lips and imagine that it's yours, but then i remember that "yours" and "mine" are not words that apply to you and me anymore.
Freud and Broken Christmas TreesShe spilled the news on me before I even had the chance to react. And what would you even say to that, anyways? I'm sorry? Geez, that sucks? How's it feel to be an only child now? No. Never. You don't say that kind of stuff. You will never be able to find the words to say until it happens to you, too. God forbid.
And she just kind of stared at me. That look was piercing, haunting. It froze my tendons and turned my thoughts to dust. I was a nothing, I was worse than the dirt under her shoes. Because I couldn't solve anything. Because I couldn't make it better. Because I was just as helpless as she was, and she hated me for it.
The feeling wa
Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:
When the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound is she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.
Her Caņo Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Though her eyes
tell of time waiting,
when the wind was lonesome and
slaughtering butterflies in its chill.
They turned, almost at once
Eyes gray, yet dancing with the frenzied
glory of cosmos.
Striking out at her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
She understood, "Your laurel leaves speak of death
but I still need you."
And he wept, "Your garland
speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."
Any morning of the week you can walk into your local knock off brand grocery store and find stacks of newsprint papers on your left as you walk in, wiping snow dust off your shoe onto the mat before the crystal flakes melt past the leather into your now soggy black cotton socks.
Not one minute in the dairy milk perfumed air after you walk in through automatic sliding doors, then past windows barring gusts of snow dunes, and there are newspapers. Newsweek, Times, Global something are all there but you pass them for the local paper.
The winter moisture that had soaked into your skin now has already evaporated and the paper grates against your