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I hate my life.
I know I really shouldn't be saying that. After all, I am obviously extremely lucky, very privileged, I should be so grateful etc. etc. I've heard it all. There's nothing they haven't told me yet that's supposed to make me humble and to be honest, none of it has worked. I suppose not everything in my new, and apparently improved life, is bad. I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't enjoy the feel of the luxurious satins and silks that brushed against my skin as I walked, or the looks of mixed respect and fear that were thrown my way as I walked down the streets, the beautifully crafted weapons that could be mailed to me within twenty four hours. All were wonderful perks, but what I liked the most was the strange warm sensation that burned through my body as I opened the apartment door and saw his silhouette against the wall, waiting for me. That was the best.
Only if for a night.And I heard your voice, as clear as day and you told me I should concentrate. It was all so strange and so surreal that a ghost could be so practical.
Darkness, you know, is relative.
To Cato, stumbling around, alone and enveloped in night in the middle of the arena, it was certainly far darker than it had been the previous night. The trees and their branches seemed to reach out, snatching at his jacket viciously, trying to pull him back as the wind screamed around him, whipping his face and making him gasp out loud as he pulled forwards. He didn't know where he was going, or why he had to keep moving but that didn't seem to matter. His feet just kept on moving, hammering the stones beneath them until he could feel the blood stinging on the soles of his feet.
It was almost a relief when the rain came.
Cato stopped where he was, in a small
Kaleidoscope.His memories of her came back in a kaleidoscope of colours. Every flashback, every echo that wrapped itself around his mind and hung there like a promise about to be broken was always in the most sparkling of technicolour. After his parents had died, he'd only seen them in black and white images, still life drawings in his dreams, that had dimmed and faded as he got older, but with her the moving pictures just grew brighter with every day he spent without her.
Colour in itself created a memory of her in front of him; colour was always something she loved. When they had been children, she'd always worn a coloured ribbon to hold her wiry ebony hair back from her face, a different colour every day. He recalled all of the shades carefully, a roll call in his mind; red and blue, purple and pink, green and yellow. He had to keep on remembering. Remembering kept you from forgetting. Once they were older, she'd worn the same colours in her dresses, woven into the materials of wonderful full sk
what love is not.it was a s l o p p y first kiss where
my drunk lips fumbled against yours.
the dull thwack of my heart,
locked behind curved ribs
cleared my groggy brain,
clouded with lustful premonitions.
it was an e l e c t r i f y i n g first kiss where
you entwined your hands in my hair.
your mouth encompassed mine and
my breath became lost in the steady
of your chest.
it was a s h y first kiss where
i pulled away before you could explore.
your tongue grazed my teeth,
searching for a way past the ivory gates.
i dug my finger into the stubble along your jaw,
my nail lulling your carnal desires.
it was my first kiss with you.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More