#exerpts from a book i'll never write

[awhisperamongechoes]

It’s okay. Maybe I just wasn’t made to be loved.

[oxfordelise]

When Adam bit the apple he did it because he trusted Eve. Because he loved her. Adam bit into the apple because the woman he loved told him to, no matter what God said. No matter the rules of heaven. What's heaven to a woman's love anyway? What's God to your wife? The first sins of humanity, were trusting others. Eve trusted a snake, Adam trusted Eve, and I trust you. Maybe that's a sin, just like the first couple. Maybe everyone's right about us and we're sinners and we offend God. But like I said, what's God to a woman's love anyway? What has heaven got that I can't find sitting next to you on a cool autumn morning?

[frost-writes-stuff]

As their lips touched for the first time, they both felt a surge of electricity through their bodies. It felt like being struck by a lightning, in the most beautiful and romantic way. He felt a warm wave embracing him, the feeling of belonging to someone. And she felt lightheaded, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, heat rising up and flushing her cheeks.

It was everything they could ask for, everything they could have dreamed of. That very first kiss that only lasted a few short seconds, just their lips touching each other in the most tender way, was the real beginning of their story. Those short few seconds had felt like eternity to her, and she never wanted it to end. After all, it was him who'd surprised her with the kiss. And it was also him again who broke the kiss. "Good night. It was fun. I'd love to do it again soon," he'd smiled. And by gods, that smile melted her heart. She smiled back, drunk with love and joy, "Yeah... Yeah, me too."

[heartoflesh]

You weren't my first love. But you were my first real love. It hurts that much because I thought this was it for me. I thought you were my end and my beginning. I thought that I could finally lean into it. You were the first person I imagined life with. We made promises that I intended to keep. Yes, it hurts that much because it was you and me and it was real.

Excerpts from a book I'll never write, William

[suhyla]

Yes, sometimes pain comes unexpectedly. But sometimes joy does too. When you let things flow and learn to release control, you find everything falling exactly where it’s supposed to.

— suhylawrites on instagram

[soulfulreverie]

[sayoteacup]

I see magic in a lot of places.

The smell of ink, the sound of a bird's chirp, a smile from a stranger, the yellow pages of an old book, the feelings of nostalgia - all magic.

Though sometimes, I lose faith in it.

But then I hear the piano console me and a voice says, "The faith remains". 

Music. The sole melody of one's soul. As if your emotions from deep within came whispering to your ears. Your heart sings. The child inside you is set free. And then the music stops. But the magic remains.

Don't you sometimes wonder, how beautifully arranged musical notes can make us feel emotions so deep, but people still say magic is not real? Don't let them fool you, for you'll only need to look inside your soul and you'll know the magic is still there.

[first-thought-best-thoughtt]

In my head, my brother is still six years old,

A little thing that tugs at my sleeve for my attention, walks hand in hand with me,

Believes all the lies I tell him,

Eyes very wide, hanging off my every word -

Let's play together, he says, toothless and round cheeked and I

Would do anything he asks.

Except.

Hes not six, hes seven, eight, nine, ten, nearly eleven,

With a sneer on his face, an indignant irritation,

Eyes following me, even at this age, as though he can hardly believe we came from the same thing

Lips curled in a mockery as if to tell me that things are not what they were, an ever present reminder as though his absence from my side is not a reminder enough

We dont play together anymore, I say to him one day, voice hollow, and he looks up at me, rolling his eyes

I'm not a baby anymore, he says, and I hear the truth of it laced beneath his words,

I outgrew you.

I kiss that six year old goodbye. We had a good time, didnt we? I'm sorry. I wish I didnt need to leave you behind.

- The Things We Miss When We Blink

[amih1ghrn]

And for you, I'd pick every flower from the garden of my heart

If it meant that you would smile,

If it meant that you would love me

[crazyarcadejellyfish]

A Sign of Terrible Disaster - Ch. 1

The apocalypse went precisely how everyone imagined it: zombies, chaos, and killing. The world was on fire, and no one could extinguish flames. The movies, TV shows, books, and video games got it right, and the Christians got it wrong, but that’s not what this is about. 

It’s not about who got it right or wrong, and it’s not about how it all started. This story is about the one place that was always overlooked, the one thing that no one ever accounted for: the Caribbean.

As usual, we were late to the announcement, the meeting, and the uptake—or, in this case, the destruction. No one knows how this managed to spread the way it did. Everyone understood why it took so long for people to find out, but no one cared enough to warn the others.

I’m sure you have questions. Everyone had questions despite everything around them falling apart. It's human nature to question disaster, even amid it. How did the apocalypse happen? How did it spread so fast? 

And what does any of that have to do with a black girl from the Caribbean?

Well, this isn’t the start of the apocalyptic story you were hoping for, but it's a start that may lead to the solution everyone was looking for. It all started with a pigeon, but this wasn’t an ordinary one.

I was busy hanging out laundry when this pigeon appeared out of nowhere. Something about its appearance had my sixth sense throwing up warning signs. Still, after too many years of wild imagination, I brushed it off. I assumed the almost weathered appearance was what had me on edge. How I wish I were wrong.

From the skeletal body to the heavily faded brown feathers, this bird looked like it had been through hell and back. The way it kept flying away, coming back to land on my fence and always watching me, had me on edge; I quickly finished hanging out the clothes and went inside. 

I thought I was safe, quietly thinking there was no reason to be so on edge about a pigeon. As usual, my human brain tried to find some logical reasoning behind its appearance. Maybe it came from some suffering country? Perhaps it traveled beyond its natural habitat? But no, this pigeon was a sign, maybe from God, the universe, or a higher power in this vast world, but it was definitely a sign of worse things to come.

Funnily enough, I wasn’t the only sick person staying home from work. My two friends, Nigel Landerous and Bobby Pemberton, were also ill. I’d known both knuckleheads since high school, but Bobby moved with his mom to Florida, and Nigel lived just down the road from me.

Bobby was the youngest, only 21 years old, but that never stopped him from doing anything. Nigel and I were 22 then, but his birthday is coming up, so he will be older than me in a few months. 

I tried to forget about the pigeon, but something kept telling me to observe it. I spent a few hours doing other house activities and even reading until I heard a scream so loud and ear-splitting that it made me cringe. It was so loud that it echoed through the whole neighborhood.

Unable to locate the origin of the scream, I stepped outside, gently petting my dog as I looked around. Everyone had stepped outside, also trying to discover what was happening. What we saw was the pigeon unexpectedly pecking ferociously at my neighbor’s dog; blood and fur were splattered everywhere. 

The pigeon didn’t stop until her husband came and whacked it with a broom into some bushes not too far away. The silence was heavy yet loud, and everyone's horrified expressions showed a look of shock. I’m not sure why, but my feet took me outside the safety of the gate and into the empty street. “Mommy. Pigeon.” A young boy’s voice drew our attention to the still body in the grass. 

Like something from a horror movie, there were snapping and cracking sounds before the pigeon stood up as though it wasn’t injured. “Dear God,” Said another neighbor who regularly walked the street with his kids, grabbing their hands and returning to their house. I decided to do the same and rush back inside, but not before I heard another scream. Don’t look back.

I shouldn’t have looked back; I should’ve kept running to the house, but my body froze and shifted to see the next pigeon’s victim, except it wasn’t the pigeon attacking this time. This time, it was the woman’s dog that attacked her husband. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I tried to stifle my scream as the dog ripped into the husband's knee. The man, startled and scared, wavered before falling back as the dog jumped at him.

Then, the dog began scratching and ripping into his gut. Slowly, I exhaled, turning around and slowly nearing my gate. Trying to calm my racing thoughts, I reached with trembling hands and slowly closed the gate. Every creak of the iron gate sounded like a thunderclap. The sound felt like it was reverberating through the bloody chaos and could draw the dog’s attention to me.

As the gate finally closed with a soft clang, I felt the tension worsen in my body. My eyes were squeezed shut in silent prayer as my heart pounded so loud it silenced everything else around me. When I regained control of my breathing, I looked around and saw no sign of the pigeon or the dog.

Turning away, I knew the danger had not passed. If there was anything I learned about a zombie apocalypse. It’s that the threat would just increase, and it never ended with just one or two victims. Slowly, I went back inside, closing and locking the door as quietly as possible.

As I collapsed against the door, my breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through my veins like wildfire. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I had witnessed outside, trying to reconcile the nightmare with the reality of my survival. Calm down, Zekia. This is a nightmare. The most realistic nightmare of all time, but still a nightmare.

“Yeah. Of course.” Resting my head between my knees, I took deep breaths to slow my racing heartbeats. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack, so that was my priority. Closing my eyes, I tried to find solace in the darkness behind my eyelids, but flashes of the bloody attack flashed across them instead, and I reopened my eyes. The first group of victims is always those who can’t accept reality. But what kind of reality is this?!

[awhisperamongechoes]

Hot take:

I really hate the term “I don’t chase”. Like damn so you’re telling me you’d rather watch them walk away feeling unwanted instead of just sending them a message first for once?

That’s embarrassing.

[oxfordelise]

My biggest flaw is that I want magic. I want life to feel important. I want purpose and danger. I want something bigger than what we’ve got, you know? I want it to be like the movies. Like Literature. Kisses that bring back the dead. Wars that decimate the ruling class. Prophesies. Angry Gods. Immortality. I’ve been spoiled with too many stories, reality pales in comparison. And I don’t know what to do about it.

[frost-writes-stuff]

Writing Prompt / Exerpt I guess?

"You've built these high walls around yourself. You've made it impossible for people to get to know the real you, to enter your life. You have made it impossible for someone to love you."

"I haven't built these walls myself. Not on purpose. They were built by everyone who has ever hurt me. They threw so many stones at me. And over time, there were so my stones that I just couldn't get rid of them, I had to do something with them. So, with the help of the ones who hurt me, I built these walls. Go on, lay your head against the walls. Close your eyes and take a listen. You can hear everything they've said to hurt me. Each column represents one person. And that big watchtower? That's the one person who broke me the most all on their own. Took me a while to put my pieces together, but I did it. You say these walls make it impossible for people to get to know me, to love me, to enter my life. But can't you see the door? It's not locked, see, it's ajar, even. Oh, but be careful! It's heavy. It's kinda like pulling Excalibur from the rock. Only those who are worthy can open the door and get inside. Only those, willing to keep trying. Those, who won't give up after a couple tries, the persistent ones. Only they can open the door and get inside. I have been hurt too many times, broken into too many pieces. You have to excuse me for being selective with whom I want to have in my life let alone whom I want to spend the rest of my life with. It takes time and effort to get that door open, but it's not impossible, I swear. It's just hard. And it is that way so people won't hurt me anymore. It takes time and effort to win my heart, and I can't promise I am worth it. But I can promise that if you can manage to get that door open, I will do anything in my power to make sure there are no more doors or walls separating us. That, I can promise. I'm a hard person to love, but not because I think too highly of myself, it's because I've had to relearn what it's like to love and to be loved, all over again in the recent years. I'm still learning, be patient with me. And I promise I will love you more than humanly possible."

[heartoflesh]

I feel the years fleeting and I envy youth. They go camping and skiing. They go swimming in lakes and out for ice cream on Tuesday afternoons, living tightly knit together until someday they realize their romantic feelings for each other, reminiscing on all the memories they've created in each other's lives,

and I... I have nothing but these binoculars, looking on from the shadows of all these trees. I am far from them. I am so far from you— excluded from a world I wanted so desperately to be a part of.

Excerpts from a book I'll never write, William

[nattkanin]

Konsten att aldrig känna sig hemma

Förutom i personer jag vet lämnar

[daydrinking75]

she held her coat firmly to her chest, as though a child, with a cigarette balanced in her free hand, and walked on towards the train, thinking about the fleeting nature of romantic love once again. it was a subject perpetually repeating in her mind, for she did not receive it as a child, even familialy (not correctly, anyway). it had always been deformed and somehow grotesque in her minds eye, and so she pondered, if perhaps this was a universal truth which everyone was blind to, or if she had been blinded from the start by the hands that made her