Sliding gliders, petrified lighters, fire blinks through paper like your eyeballs on my sword—are you bored?
If it is passion, or if it is a muse, if it is a hidden catalyst or just something one must not lose, it drives the metaphor of the heart over the edge of the barren cliff and rests upon its own weight letting the being float on air.
She smiled. When she performed such an action, everything else seemed to blur and mesh together. The surroundings’ colours became enriched; the air cleaner, smoother, a bit colder; time stopped, quickened its pace, and came to a sharp halt. The world circumvented reality, and only fantasies remained present.
In the end, nature may limit science, but that does not mean science cannot bend and stretch the boundaries.
Not much can quell such a beating, but luckily for him, fate was about to willingly force a solution upon him, one which he would readily accept. He glared up at the blank, black sky—no stars, not a moon, only the deep dark abyssal trench that lay across his eyes—and he wondered what his next move should be.
Death shall not come to me until I have conquered the impregnable. This is how it shall be. This is the orchestra to which I shall conduct my symphony.
Imagine being born into this world expecting nothing except what may come naturally. And that mind then being altered by the media to fit a more wider spectrum of results.
A collection of songs to soothe the night. Spending hours on the phone with the girl I’m crazy for, with her not knowing it (yet). And inside, feeling some sort of calmness. Some sort of serenity.
Bobby had spent all his time conjuring up a plan to get her back. Sitting in front of her in history class, not paying attention to the professor’s lecture, he wrote up a neat little note.
She looks just amazing in a simple, ordinary t-shirt.