, , , , , , , , , , ,

“You are the devil of a woman!” he called after her, screaming out a name that was never hers.

She laughed. How amusing it was to her to have him yell at her, as if that would change her disposition.

Alive with a small sense of curiosity, she walked back over to him, heels clacking loudly against the tiled floor. She looked down at him, smiling wide as she pressed hard into his chest with her left foot. He groaned in pain as the thin tip of the heel she wore broke the tender barrier of his skin. It was a wonderful sound – she bathed in the agonizing sounds – enjoying them after the torture of having to listen to his moans and grunts of pleasure. The blood began to pool around him, slowly as she tossed her head back, shaking with laughter that caused her hair to glide along her back in the most mesmerizing of ways.

She laughed once more.

“Do not flatter me so,” and with the flick of a tail and flash of a smile, she was gone.

If Only


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She sighed heavily, almost in a shuddering way. But, no – she would not allow herself to cry as she lay there cradled in the wrong arms. The brutal honesty of this stung deep down.

He could never be hers, not really. He had made that decision and had left her there, holding her own heart with his name inscribed in every which way all over its surface and down in its depths. She had been stupid, childish to let herself fall like that; so carelessly after building so many defenses that led to this one moment. She had tried her hardest to not let him see her stumble, fall head first into something that she never had the intention to crawl out of.

When he had left, it took every ounce of her being to smile, to fabricate the lie that she would be alright. They both knew that she wouldn’t be, and yet he had left without another word and she had changed.

She sighed once more and for just a second she let her mask slip, a tear sliding gracefully, slowly down her cheek. He pulled her closer, kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand in his own. An ache deep down surged in resentment, this wasn’t right. It would have to do, she reminded herself – nobody would ever come close by comparison. She smiled her smile as his face danced across her memory and she added another brick to one of the endless walls that she was so determined to build.



, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Spin me around
the way that you do
keeping my stomach a-flutter
and the stars crashing down
when you look my way
I cannot help but avoid that gaze
as my shyness always kicks in
and makes me smile
in a way
so sweetly that it could
bring tears to
my eyes
I feel trapped in whatever it is
that you’ve got
and I could be perfectly
to stay awhile.

Note to the Reader


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I started this blog with only good intentions, to finally crawl out of my little writer’s hole and not be afraid to actually let people read my work. So, if you happen to stumble across this, please know that constructive criticism is greatly appreciated here. With that in mind, these are my works of art, my budding and blossoming ideas that are ever evolving and that consistently make me proud – though sometimes it takes a lot to get there, trusting the old “saying” that you are your biggest critic. I love what I write, but it never seems to be good enough, and learning from other writers, I have concluded that I need to let you, the reader, decide that instead of me beating myself up over missed characters, words, emotions, etc.

That all being said, I greatly appreciate the time that you have taken out of your crazy or not-so-much schedules to sit here and read the ramblings of someone who one day aspires to write an actual novel, or at the bare minimum a children’s book (of which I am currently working…something about a troll, faeries, etc. I am hopeful for it.). Feel free to leave comments, to let me know what you think, feel, have to say on anything – all that I crave with these is some feedback to let me know that I am not absolutely out of my mind by wanting to be a published author one day. I understand that I could never be as intense a writer as Neil Gaiman, as popular as J.K. Rowling, or as well known as Stephen King…but, there is a small hope that my name will at least be seen in your local bookstore one day.

So please! Read, enjoy, comment.

Thank you, after all, the readers are what keep the writers going.

A Thought


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I loved him once, for reasons that are all but lost to me now. He is nothing more than a fading memory that will one day sound vaguely familiar. His face, his voice, his touch – things that no presence of recollection will ever bring back to a sense. There is no reason to shed a single tear over something that is so far lost, to someone who can no longer clearly be pictured. All that matters is that I loved him once, and that seems to be burden enough.

From Here


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He traced the outline of her lips, gently enough to avoid waking her and firmly enough to send him into a wave of memory from the night before. What she had done with those lips – how easily something that seemed so insignificant could arouse him in such a way. Intrigued, he had just sat there, every ounce of his being screaming at him to beg for more, praising him for nothing less. He sighed, she was something else and everything that he could ever ask for.

Pressing his lips to hers once more, he waited for silence, ensuring her slumber before he carefully climbed out of the bed. It did not take him long to pull on clothes from the night before that smelled only of her. He stood a moment longer to admire her beauty, as though that of a bystander looking at a magnificent piece of art that spoke only to him. She seemed nothing short of perfection and he felt on top of the world. He would have only felt more so had he made the decision to call her his own; the fall had not taken long, he was certain of that much.

Carefully he opened the door and took a step into what could only be described as his future; all of his tomorrow’s would only stem from here. He closed the door after a moment, leaving without a whisper or another thought.

Somewhere in the back of his mind she woke – alone, confused, forgotten.

Forgetting Her


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You knew her once.

Now her name slips your memory as you pass her on the street and she spins in next to you, whispering hello. She does not expect you to remember her, it was too long ago for you to recall.

As you get home you find yourself scrambling to get old yearbooks, flipping through boxes of photographs that you have not touched or even thought about in years. After hours of tearing apart old memories, you will find them – questioning yourself more with every page turned, every picture tossed aside. Desperation will peak as you begin to convince yourself that she has got to be real, there is no other explanation for the sudden obsession of finding out who she is, what she might have meant to you. It will seem as though the caress on the side of the street, the subtle brush of her fingertips against your shoulder blade had never really occurred. Maybe you were imagining things, after all.

She had left no trace of herself behind; she had been so careful of that. Making herself scarce and knowing where every image was, every scratch of paper artistically covered with her name, every little thing attached to a memory that was too big to sacrifice her emotions. The day that you left her was the day that she disappeared – making it easy to forget her as the years slowly passed.

Annoyed with yourself and the time wasted in chasing a ghost, you will drag yourself to bed to drift off into a much needed sleep, but, not without dreaming of her. Her name will come to you and you will whisper it softly into the night, tasting her on your lips.

You knew her once.

Just Give it Time


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She had her bare feet dangling outside of the passenger window, her head resting comfortably in his lap; she could not help but smile up at him as he twirled her hair around her fingertips, lost in thought and humming along to the radio.

It had just finished raining and the woods were starting to come back to life as the heat of the day was finally subsiding. They had driven all the way up there with no intention other than a lazy Sunday and a view of the city as it came to life that night.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said, still staring out the windshield.

“That was a little out of nowhere,” she sighed. She hated to complicate things, had begged him not to…and here he was, complicating them.

“I know,” he finally looked over at her, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I am going to miss you.”

“You hardly know me.”

“I know you enough to miss you, and right now, I think that is more than plenty,” he said sternly, glaring at her, challenging her to test his limits on the matter. She started to open her mouth to argue, closing it again as she thought she had better not. He turned to look back out of the window, dropping the conversation as if it never even took place. They grew silent then, she sighed heavily and he went back to twisting her hair and humming.

After awhile he dropped his head, just for a second before shoving the key in the opposite direction and starting the truck. She looked up at him, hopeful that he would finally say something and after a few seconds she gave up,  tucked her feet back inside and sat up. Throwing the truck into gear, he reached out his hand and grabbed hers. Slowly they made their way back to town.

As he pulled up in front of her house, she gave him a frustrated huff and grabbed the handle to open the door. With one swift motion he pulled her hand closer to him, forcing her to fall into him and leave the door as it was. He wrapped his arms around her, his face lost in her hair as he mumbled something she could not quite catch. Before she could say a word, he pulled her as close as she could get and kissed her.

“Well, I guess this is it,” he whispered in a sigh as he let her reach for the door.

“I suppose so.”

“I know it doesn’t even matter, but I will still miss you,” he smiled at her.

She gave a faltered smile in response, not wanting to say any of the ridiculous thoughts running through her head. It would have been too simple.

“Goodbye,” he let her go.

She hated to end it on such a definite note, “I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe one day.”



, , , , ,

they laugh

they play

they grow

yet into what is an everlasting question

a hope for naught but happiness,

success –

to dominate a world that is theirs for the taking

all that is needed is to reach

for it

protect it

nurture it;

what is must be like

to soar into that imagination

once more

feeling so weightless,


to not yet understand the pain of a broken heart

the burn of disappointment

the depth of loneliness.

what it would be to be

so innocent once more.

Memories in the Corner


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He sat there quietly.


Slowly she walked into the room, as she did almost daily now. Had he been in possession of one, he was certain that his heart would be rushing about madly as if late for an appointment. The room contained no windows, one door that she had carefully closed and locked behind her, and a chair. She curled into the chair after plucking a book from the shelves. He could not see the title of it before she opened it and placed it in her lap – it was something about shadows, about gods.

He sat there, doing nothing more than watching her. Occasionally he would brush past her ear, whispering something so sweet and so soft that it was lost in-between, never making it to the destination he so deeply desired.

Once, a few days prior, she had unknowingly looked at him straight in the eye and had sighed. She would never know what that had done to him; he had left then, angry with himself and the world for the way that it was.

He would have traded his soul to be able to touch her, even if just the once. But, that was a hope that was long gone now. So he sat there just watching, aching deep down in places that he had forgotten.

She sat there, wrapped up in herself and turning page after page, escaping a reality that she never wished to be her own. After some time, her eyes closed heavily; the book tumbled from her fingertips and landed on the floor to display a page that spoke only of death. He laughed, it seemed so morbidly fitting as he turned the page in hopes that her slumber brought nothing but joy.

She saw him there, standing just out of reach; her heart egging her on in a tormenting way and her brain showing her that it would be silly to even try. Looking at him, they never once spoke a word. He smiled, and she fell. She did not even know his name, let alone that he was even in existence.

He loved her deeply; he would never touch her, all her life.