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MelodramaDo you feel that your life is nothing but a mere black and white melodrama? One which revolves around lies, dregs, and love?
You love someone. You cannot forget him. You fervently wish for a day when he can finally look into your eyes and say that he loves you, too. Alas, unrequited love blooms in the twinkle of time. As the morning sun kisses the wounds of ersatz memories, the stars will cry their blackest tears tonight, and the heart no longer grows fonder with each lonely palpitation.
You love no one. You cannot forgive him. You are especially indifferent to him while living in oblivion, self-denial, and half-hearted truths. Alas, true love shines at your bleakest moment. As the flame of love is rekindled once again, the saddest tear will eventually vapourize with evanescent hatred, and the heart no longer grows weaker with each bated breath.
Do you feel that your life is everything but a mere black and white melodrama? One which revolves around hope, light, and love?
Choose Your Smile
She enters the dimly-lit microcosm of her life, with apprehension. A parallel universe, a limbo of charred memories and frozen butterflies. The air smells like vanilla and apples, a wonderful scent. Almost immediately, the green-eyed monster recedes into a dark chamber of her heart. Ennui has departed, and hope begins to bloom from within. Soulful tears roll down her cheeks, akin to fresh dewdrops from a gerbera. This, she wonders aloud, is a place where I can truly call home.
With a swift wave of her hands, well-assorted jars magically appear out of thin air. In each labeled jar, there is a smile. She skims through the floating jars. 'Serene'? Boring. Let's see... How about 'Cherubic'? No, not in the mood for that... 'Tight'? Doesn't suit my visage. 'Wicked'? Been there, done that when I was feeling like a scheming schadenfreude. Lovely. So now what?
A sparkling jar suddenly caught her eye.
What's this? 'Pained'? 'Pained smile'? How awfully oxymo
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More