fiction, non-fiction, and the whatevers in between
creations of the great bum somewhere. imagined, written, read and posted. literary stuff.
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it’s worries not being there that worries me…

of good nights and sleeping

my eyes droop and begin to see swirls and twirls. the world begins to tremble and everything i’ll see, you’ll see. we’ll share every inch of the dreaming. we walk on the clouds of memories. the bed becomes an earthquake. the floor becomes wet of what seems to be tears of joy. i shake and you’ll hold me close. i let you see what’s inside of me. what i am truly. i am the monster. the beast. the animal. and you accept that wholeheartedly. the dream becomes hazy. and we see trees and leaves and autumn sadness. and we walk the pavements, the streets of concrete. we have smiles in our faces. nothing worries us. we won’t care. we have each other. we won’t dare. the dream becomes hazy. we sit side by side. hands intertwined. we look straight ahead into a future we share. and it is everything. we grasp. we pull. we push. the dream’s a blur. and we are walking into the moon, through all holes of cheesy goodness. bicycles and all. stars and comets flying all over the place. lights blinking. and everything is ours for the taking. your hands on mine. smiling that smile of yours. and i close my eyes. and dream some more. reality and the dreaming becoming one. all true, just me and you. 

when you use up all your creativity just to make that one person smile or laugh or light up or swoon over..


let me wake up right next to you. where the world is filled with hugs and warmth and kisses. i can hear your beautiful words and whispers and laughter. i can touch your skin and hair and cheeks. you are as sublime as one can be. dreams are never as beautiful as rememberings of memories. i will wake up right next to you. and everything will once again be whole and clear and bliss.

untitled pt. 4

love is suffering through all those fits of laughter and tears. looking at stars in longings and yearnings. remembrances of features you know all too well and still don’t know enough of. love is the feeling of those hands holding you tight. holding on to the voice at the ends of every call. the imaginings of words wrapped up into corny lines. it is tasting every food, good or bad, shared with each others company. the movies watched with someone’s shoulder to lean on to. the conversations and the tellings of each other’s past, hoping against hope that the other sees through all the craziness and scars, sees you for who you are. it is the walk on crowded streets and pavements, crowded beaches and malls, and seeing only two sets of footprints. it is the few caresses. it is the utterings of i-love-you’s you can’t get enough of because it can never show the extent of what you truly feel. it is the meetings of eye to eye and seeing things truly for what they are. it is appreciation and unplucked flowers and uncaged birds. it is the inhales after very long sighs. it is all this and more. real happiness because, at last, it is being shared.

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