notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

the best thing in life is knowing, some one care for you enough that they'll sit and watch you put on their oversized cloves and jump around from happyness

or that they sit and lisen to the tiles and tribulation you've faced and will make sure you'll never have to go through them again.

but what's even better than that is the fact they'll let me listen to their stories, their hops and dreams for the future, worries and troubles as time ticks by

for only the gods know how much I want to talk about them, to know them and for the possibility to immortalise them in my work like this

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

I'm sorry but can we talk about the fact that looking into your lovers eyes and describing them in the best yet abscurest ways possible

Yours dearly

A love struck simp just simping for them and them only

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.

[notknowingwhatlayedamoungthem]

the 4th wall? never hear of it.

Love is one of the weirdest concepts I've had the blessing of stumbling across.

Since the only way of knowing if you are or if you arent is by complete chance, almost like a roll of a dice.

It has such a distinct and forin feeling,

I've only had the pleasure of feeling only twice in my short life.

For every time it has started off as nothing more than a soft glow, similar to a small fire one that can easily be mistaken for friendship and trust me when I say it has.

Or at least the first time around it was.

Somehow I had learnt and grown enough that fate had given me the gift of experiencing it again.

So i guess that's why i'm writing now, in the early summer evening, eagerly awaiting the sight of my lover in the morn. But one thing that people fail to mention is the sparks you feel when you fall into love. The sparks of creation, sparks of hope, wonder and even joy.

I year for their touch as i hope for a long future with them and a part of me is scared to what would happen if i was to be parted with them, i hope that when i look back to this like i do with many others of my work, published or not i will never tell, i will still be with the person who i menshon now in this…

Im not sure what to call this whether this is a story of soughts or not. I'm not fully sure that I can guarantee I will re-write this at least a half dozen times if my soul wills it. Tho i will apologise for the varying length of my work.

In a way tho i love them to the brink of creation, i myself know it is foolish to say as i stand as both a mortal and immortal for there is no proof that i stand with my brethren in the face of death. In the amount of time I have graced this earth I have strutted through my trials and tribulations that I know you as my reader has faced as well, I smiled in death's shadow and with much grace and decorum showed it's foolish ways through this means I shall not burn you with. But perhaps for you. From the facts I have mentioned you would have thought I would be identified as a being who latches on to the febal mortal being as I where to sip on the highest of quality ambrosia but alas I am just as mortal as whoever is reading this.

With the factor that writers such as i are gods there own right, half that of the pantheon of the majoring gods of the greec religion now lost to time but gods in the sense of their creation with phrases such as ‘speak of her over my grave and watch as she brings me to life’ and an opposing thrase of ‘that's the thing about pain … it demands to be felt’ the people who created these phrase, created them in the hopes of connecting it those who may seek the emotions that are hidden among them no matter what the format they may be written it.

Writers make galaxys, nebulas novacors each and every world is weaved with the finest of stardust in the hopes of someone feeling the emotions they oh so dearly want you to hole.

So even as i, a writer of my own kind by ability to write has improved with every story i write no matter its size stand aw struck at the thought of describing my lover, if i may call them that, because to me words cannot describe how the sky bends to them how the clouds shift and the weather itself changes in order for them to feel the welcoming heat of the sun that icoras himself held so dearly and lover so harshly.

In a way it feels like i've known them before in a cruel way, tho then again it also feels like i have walked the earth longer than any bearing i have come across, maybe i am a old soul or a fallen god who used their last embers of immortality to be reborn as a simple mortal, but like i said before i am a writer so it could be that my time writing could just have caught up to me.

The line between fiction and reality is blurred a little for myself so please bear with me dearest reader.

But when ever i have the opportunity to be in their ever blessing presence i long to stell them, legends, ballads and odes from long ago of old war buddies that were secretly lovers in hushed voices and hidden laughter in the hopes of fooling those around them of their true intentions of one and other.

Oh if only the fates new how much i longed to whisper the story of anchellies and proclus to them as i shift my fingers through their hair in early june after noons, or as my head lays on their chest in the middle of a lush field the sound of our laughter still dancing in the summer air.

Oh reader, I can't help but tell you these things that I hold dear about them, the hints of brown in their green hues, the way their hair sticks up when the breeze grazes them just right, or how their laughter gives me a sort of ease I've never felt before.

But I hope that one day you may understand these words I have written for you on this early summer's eve. For you reader I have loved you the most and for the longest time, and I pray to whoever may hear this call that I am reunited with you again one day.