Arzu

Australia

a 14 yr old Aussie girl passionate about writing and climate change

Current fav book/series is The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (aaaaaa there's no book that has hilarious and meaningless plot twists like this one)

Message from Writer

Writing is an art, and I think that the best writing shares stories directly from your mind, your heart, your soul, or wherever else you get your ideas from. As a general rule, I try not to have any gap between the words in my head and the words that I write.
Love to read ur stories and learn from them :)))

Published Work

Setting as Mood

just a small bubble of love in a bustling city

Watching those two together filled Maya with the sort of warmth that felt so happy, it hurt.

The air was heavy with constant noise, and the streets buzzed with a busyness that was not quite chaotic, but it made it impossible for one to ever feel like they were exactly where should be. Fairy lights twinkled outside judgmental shopfronts, and windows were jewels on indifferent skyscrapers. The heat clung to her skin and the sky hung low above her head. As tiny raindrops infested the city, as indecisive as lovers not in love, it felt like the perfect place to cry. Those two walked on, and it was like all was right with the world, and everything beautiful was right there, in that spot. Watching something so perfect, but not really being a part, broke Maya's heart by swelling it till it couldn't grow anymore.

Setting as Mood

just a small bubble of love in a bustling city

Watching those two together filled Maya with the sort of warmth that felt so happy, it hurt.

The air was heavy with constant noise, and the streets buzzed with a busyness that was not quite chaotic, but it made it impossible for one to ever feel like they were exactly where should be. Fairy lights twinkled outside judgmental shopfronts, and windows were jewels on indifferent skyscrapers. The heat clung to her skin and the sky hung low above her head. As tiny raindrops infested the city, as indecisive as lovers not in love, it felt like the perfect place to cry. Those two walked on, and it was like all was right with the world, and everything beautiful was right there, in that spot. Watching something so perfect, but not really being a part, broke her heart by swelling it till it couldn't grow anymore.

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Living Without Ambition

https://youtu.be/xXAEd9tiTD0

Stop. Breathe in this moment. This precise moment. Not the pride from yesterday, or the pain from tomorrow, or even the thoughts from five minutes ago. Break it down to this very moment. Now tell me, what is making you happy right now? 

Writers of WriteTheWorld, we have all been driven by something. With every twist, turn or fork in the road it's been there, calling us and redirecting us like a roadmap. It was in us when we were five year olds, waving our arms because we knew the answer, and it’s here now, making our passions burn so bright that everything else is dim. We have been driven by ambition.

Back to my question: What is making you happy right now? The birds? The trees? Loved ones? Or is there nothing making you happy right now, and it’s the prospect of future happiness that you dream of?

The pursuit of happiness is a path that so many...

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Living Without Ambition

Stop. Breathe in this moment. This precise moment. Not the pride from yesterday, or the pain from tomorrow, or even the thoughts from five minutes ago. Break it down to this very moment. Now tell me, what is making you happy right now? 

Writers of WriteTheWorld, we have all been driven by something. With every twist, turn or fork in the road it's been there, calling us and redirecting us like a roadmap. It was in us when we were five year olds, waving our arms because we knew the answer, and it’s here now, making our passions burn so bright that everything else is dim. We have been driven by ambition.

Back to my question: What is making you happy right now? The birds? The trees? Loved ones? Or is there nothing making you happy right now, and it’s the prospect of future happiness that you dream of?

The pursuit of happiness is a path that so many of...

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Living Without Ambition

Stop. Breathe in this moment. This precise moment. Not the pride from yesterday, or the pain from tomorrow, or even the thoughts from five minutes ago. Break it down to this very moment. Now tell me, what is making you happy right now? 

Writers of WriteTheWorld, we have all been driven by something. With every twist, turn or fork in the road it's been there, calling us and redirecting us like a roadmap. It was in us when we were five year olds, waving our arms because we knew the answer, and it’s here now, making our passions burn so bright that everything else is dim. We have been driven by ambition.

Back to my question: What is making you happy right now? The birds? The trees? Loved ones? Or is there nothing making you happy right now, and it’s the prospect of future happiness that you dream of?

The pursuit of happiness is a path that so many of...

My life is the Universe

My life
Is
The universe
An expanse of dark oblivion
Quiet, pristine and empty
But infested with a billion lights
That like to pretend they matter

"My Heart is Like"

Without You

I know what my heart is like
    When you are not here:
It is like the moon when it's alone
    Nothing without the fierce flame,
    The independence and the ferocity
Of the sun, a lone wanderer
    Not in search of a companion

Writing Streak Day 1 Week 7

I’m done. Finished. Over.

Living without you is like breathing in ghosts, but surely this is nothing compared to the fire of your touch? Surely my heart will lighten when you cease to rouse my ghosts from the dark?

Living without you sends longing shivers through my heart, but nothing can this be, compared to the loneliness of your embrace?

Sure, without the light of your presence, I only grope dull walls and see no end to my travels, but at least my eyes are saved from the flashes of scenery that scar my retinas.

No aspirations, no future, no goals without you; I gave that all up for the sake of one goal- to rid myself of you.

Writing Streak Day 1 Week 7

I’m done. Finished. Over.

Living without you is like breathing in ghosts, but surely this is nothing compared to the fire of your touch? Surely my heart will lighten when you cease to rouse my ghosts from the dark?

Living without you sends longing shivers through my heart, but nothing can this be, compared to the loneliness of your embrace?

Sure, without the light of your presence, I only grope dull walls and see no end to my travels, but at least my eyes are saved from the flashes of scenery that scar my retinas.

No aspirations, no future, no goals without you; I gave that all up for the sake of one goal- to rid myself of you.






It was my goal to end it. To forget it. To be done.





Giving up on writing is like giving up part of your soul. It’s like simply throwing away ten years’ worth of dreams, aspirations and futures.

And that’s why...

Writing Streak 2 Week 6 Day 2

It's only really when an epiphany hits me like sunlight on water that I really feel the freedom and lack of self-awareness that only self-respect can bring.

Writing Streak 2 Week 6 Day 1

It wasn't like I couldn't stand straight.
It was just that I was dependent on a thin string composed of extra-curriculars, hard work, a bright future, productive days, and compliments- that string was all that kept me standing tall and proud, while also slowly breaking my spine.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Love is the fifth dimension

The sky fell around us in a spiral of colour, because here I was again, imposing on your life, again and again, drawn by love so intangible that it couldn't be damaged by evil deeds and raging murder. Rebirth promised a clean canvas, yet here I was, smearing the past on it- but never had heartache felt so intoxicating.

Our eyes met, and my heart beat again. Your eyes felt like the home I'd never had. Even all this time, they stayed the same. My heart found freedom, at last, in the words they whispered.

"I still love you."

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Challenge completed

Day 1
It was spiky and useless, a smudge of spidery acid green paint on a dusty forgotten canvas, jumping out at the eyes like a mistake desperate to prove its worth. 

Day 2
It was a fearless godmother to the children of the dirt, the ones who raged in mud and grit and found a home in her gnarled old wrinkles. 

Day 3
When the wind hit my feathers, I left the ground at last. 
Free! For the first time! I'll stay this way forever!
I don't care who you are fate! I don't care who you are nature!
I'm not a green feather in the ground, or traveler bending down to the storm, or a harp upon which the wind plays music- I'm a bird, that's who I am!
And though when the breeze dies down, I find my feet planted firmly in the ground; even though I can't see higher than the tops of my neighbours' heads;...

Writing Streak 2 Week 5 Day 4

She was wild and ferocious, a dirty, muddy fighter who was ready for spectacular adventures- yet here she stood, groomed to perfection and adorned in glitter and sparkling lights, caged beneath the gazes that bore down on her.

Writing Streak Week 4 Day 1

It was spiky and useless, a smudge of spidery acid green paint on a dusty forgotten canvas, jumping out at the eyes like a mistake desperate to prove its worth. 

Writing Streak 2 Week 5 Day 5

He was a feminist. He stood fiercely against the winter that was forced down upon him and looked straight into the eyes of those who sat high up on their pedestals, sneering down, because he knew that he would outlive them all.

Beauty belongs to the beholder

I do not own beauty
Because beauty runs free
But by and large, no mistake
Beauty owns me

On long days spent laughing, eating
Beauty feels scorn
Disappointment, angry words
Stinging like thorns

Bright days waking up well-rested
Confidence and pride
Beauty reminds me by saying
'I'm only inside."

Whispers, comments, compliments
Beauty feels revived.
Beauty at last rewards me
With approval and sublime.

Beauty makes me happy and
Beauty makes me sad.
Beauty leaves me cold and lonely
But when it's there it's just as bad.

Even in a world where I have
Freedom and strength
Beauty is the set of shackles
I need to learn to bend

I don't have a hold on beauty
So it controls me.
I will finally own it
When I feel instead of see

Writing Streak 2 Week 5 Day 4

She was wild and ferocious, a dirty, muddy fighter who was ready for spectacular adventures, yet here she stood, groomed to perfection and adorned in glitter and sparkling lights, caged beneath the gazes that bore down on her.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Love is the fifth dimension

The sky fell around us in a spiral of colour, because here I was again, imposing on your life, again and again, drawn by love so intangible that it couldn't be damaged by evil deeds and raging murder. Rebirth promised a clean canvas, yet here I was, smearing the past on it- but never had spearing heartache felt so intoxicating.

Our eyes met, and my heart beat again. Your eyes felt like the home I'd never had. Even all this time, they never changed. My heart found freedom, at last, in the words they whispered.

"I still love you."

Writing Streak 2 Week 5 Day 3

When the wind hit my feathers, I left the ground at last. 
Free! For the first time! I'll stay this way forever!
I don't care who you are fate! I don't care who you are nature!
I'm not a green feather in the ground, or traveler bending down to the storm, or a harp upon which the wind plays music- I'm a bird, that's who I am!
And though when the breeze dies down, I find my feet planted firmly in the ground; even though I can't see higher than the tops of my neighbours' heads; despite the fact that poets and writers love to write about me as luscious and green and forever planted deep into the ground, the lowest of the low- in spite of all of that, I can still feel my wings beating. 

Writing Streak 2 Week 5 Day 2

It was a fearless godmother to the children of the dirt, the ones who raged in mud and grit and found a home in her gnarled old wrinkles. 

Writing Streak Week 4 Day 1

It was spiky and useless, a smudge of spidery acid green paint on a dusty forgotten canvas, standing proud, like a mistake desperate to prove its worth. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Love is the fifth dimension

The sky fell around us in a spiral of colour, because here I was again, imposing on your life, again and again, drawn by love so intangible that it couldn't be damaged by evil deeds and raging murder. Rebirth promised a clean canvas, yet here I was, smearing the past on it- but for the first time, it was beautiful.

Our eyes met, and my heart beat again. Your eyes felt like the home I'd never had. Even all this time, they never changed. My heart found freedom, at last, in the words they whispered.

"I still love you."

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Love is the fifth dimension

The sky fell around us in a spiral of colour, because here I was again, imposing on your life, again and again, drawn by love so intangible that it couldn't be damaged by evil deeds and raging murder. Rebirth promised a clean canvas, yet here I was, smearing the past on it- but for the first time, it was beautiful.

Our eyes met, and my heart beat again. Your eyes felt like the home I'd never had. All this time, they stayed the same. Gently, my heart was finally freed by the words they whispered.

"I still love you."

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Love is the fifth dimension

The sky fell around us in a spiral of colour, because here I was again, imposing on your life, again and again, drawn by love so intangible that it couldn't be damaged by evil deeds and raging murder. Rebirth promised a clean canvas, yet here I was, smearing the past on it- but for the first time, it was beautiful.

Our eyes met, and my heart beat again. Your eyes felt like the home I'd never had. Even after all this time, they never changed. Gently, my heart was freed by the words they whispered.

"I still love you."

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Love is the fifth dimension

How did I know? 

The sky fell around us in a spiral of lives, loves and sorrows, and here I was again, imposing on your life, again and again.
It was your life, a brand new canvas, blank and pristine, and yet here I was again, smearing the past on it with my guilty face, wrenching you back with me, because letting go was impossible.

And there, fluttering around, unburdened, was you.

How did I know?

I walked over with steps of insecurity, and you fixed your eyes, your gorgeous eyes on me, and the full, final, heavy thud of what I had stolen from you hit me.

"I'm sorry" I whispered, and you gently rested on my arm and you stroked it gently and with one last blazing look, your eyes gazed at me with an "I love you". All this time, even after I stole your life, even as you lived and loved so many more, your eyes...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 4

Challenge Completed

Day 1

For most of my life I lived in a tiny room that I shared with my brother. Most of the floor-space was filled with a bed, a bookshelf and a wardrobe which all crowded together to bring on a claustrophobic vibe. But still, this was MY room. It was the one thing that i really had at my disposal.

So I filled up whatever was left of the room with posters, artworks and anything else i could find or make to personalise my room. I did all I could to make the room my own place. 

But I was a little girl with an overactive imagination and my head was bubbling with ideas that my little shared didn't possibly have the potential to fulfill. My dreams were filled with sunlit rooms with ample space and a stack of coloured paper and markers to fill the empty walls with.

I open my eyes and nothing changes. I see a...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 4

Challenge Completed

Day 1

For most of my life I lived in a tiny room that I shared with my brother. Most of the floor-space was filled with a bed, a bookshelf and a wardrobe which all crowded together to bring on a claustrophobic vibe. But still, this was MY room. It was the one thing that i really had at my disposal.

So I filled up whatever was left of the room with posters, artworks and anything else i could find or make to personalise my room. I did all I could to make the room my own place. 

But I was a little girl with an overactive imagination and my head was bubbling with ideas that my little shared didn't possibly have the potential to fulfill. My dreams were filled with sunlit rooms with ample space and a stack of coloured paper and markers to fill the empty walls with.

I open my eyes and nothing changes. I see a...

Writing Streak 2 Week 4 Day 5

 
It wasn't as though I was a piece of a puzzle. I could disappear forever and never return, and still the place would thrive and flourish, perhaps not even noticing my absence. It simply did not need me. But that didn't change the fact that I needed it.  

Without me, creativity flowed smoothly, enjoying its freedom, and young minds learned to play while accomplishing great things. With me, creativity flowed smoothly, enjoying its freedom, and young minds learned to play while accomplishing great things. The only difference was, I was one of them. 

My absence caused no shiver of cold, no emptiness, no messages of 'we miss you!'. But my presence quietly lifted their smiles, ever so slightly warming up the place. 

If my chair remained empty forever, nothing would happen, yet still, they'd keep it reserved for me. If I went on strike in a furious protest, there would be no consequences, yet still, they would politely request...

Writing Streak 2 Week 4 Day 4

I'm a nomad. 

Jumpy and restless, I can't settle down, moving constantly. Person to person, friend to friend, I have a home in every social circle. No matter where I am, there's a place reserved for me.

For every friend I make, I give a little bit of me. So many tiny, tiny pieces of me so widely dispersed across the whole endlessly stretching earth. Don't I have a home everywhere?

The thrill of it all, the rust on my house's door, why wouldn't I keep travelling? Each place is pleasant and sunny, but so is the next...and the next...and the next...each one is good but not one is good enough...

Having everyone is like having no one. The more you share to, the less the share is. I have a home everywhere, but when it comes to where I belong? People belong in places where so much of themselves have been shared and given. Don't people only belong in places...

Writing Streak Week 4 Day 3

Dear Writing,

We've had a difficult relationship. I like to think that I'm a decisive person, but I've never changed 'break-up' into 'break' with anyone as much as I have with you. Here are ten reasons why it's almost out of my control:

1) Everyone else in the world has the choice of turning me away
2) Our absolute honesty binds us- although we try, it's almost impossible for either of us to manipulate the other
3) My pen and paper are magnets
4) I tell stories in my sleep
5) Long-term relationships like this don't end that easily
6) I've already planned the wedding, the kids' names, and the funeral that we'll have together
7) You stop the aches of pain that hard times bring me by stabbing me with your own intoxicating venom
8) I know you love me even more than I love you
9) You're pretty good-looking you know...

and finally...

10) I don't have a...

Writing Streak 2 Week 4 Day 2

But when I see that old tree again...and that dirty wooden deck that's been standing there all these years...and that wall, the wall with the secret enchanted door...it's like gently being punched in the stomach

It's shocking how, just by looking at these things, all weight lifts off my heart. When I look back at these places, I don't just SEE my younger self reliving these memories, I actually BECOME that person, so fulled wrapped up in the past am I. This tree, and that deck, and that wall- that's proof that there was a time when my biggest problems were the same things that occasionally nudge me all these years later. Right here, there's proof that there was a time before annoying heart-breakers entered the mishmash of life, and that there was a time when I dreamed of the enormous privilege of getting homework like the kids in books. There was a time when my life was so clear,...

Writing Streak 2 Week 4 Day 1

For most of my life I lived in a tiny room that I shared with my brother. Most of the floor-space was filled with a bed, a bookshelf and a wardrobe which all crowded together to bring on a claustrophobic vibe. But still, this was MY room. It was the one thing that i really had at my disposal.

So I filled up whatever was left of the room with posters, artworks and anything else i could find or make to personalise my room. I did all I could to make the room my own place. 

But I was a little girl with an overactive imagination and my head was bubbling with ideas that my little shared didn't possibly have the potential to fulfill. My dreams were filled with sunlit rooms with ample space and a stack of coloured paper and markers to fill the empty walls with.

I open my eyes and nothing changes. I see a sunlit room...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

Challenge Completed

Day 1
the village was my home
it was a home that
was familiar
in the way that an old scab
is familiar

its wintry nights scratched me
the days of hunger hurt a little
the thirsty evenings
annoyed every bit of
patience out of me

a medicine is what i need
i thought

i found a nice mountain
but
the i didnt like the mountain
at all
i liked the peak

the climb also scratched me
the long treks hurt like hell
and with no patience to run on
the billowing winds turned
annoyance into
rage

but i reached the peak

im still at the peak
i still have everything
i still dont want to lose anything

yet still i dont have enough
because
with nothing left to gain
i
 miss
      home.

Day 2
the imposter stared
but didn't see

the imposter inhaled
but didn't breathe

the imposter listened
but didn't hear

the imposter laughed
but...

Writing Streak 2 Week 3 Day 5

the window shines with light
and again
here i stand
outside looking in

from within the window
faces melt with pity
poor me
but they dont understand

that walls arent my thing
that outside im free
and that
i dont need the windows light
i have enough inside me

Writing Streak 2 Week 3 Day 4

you were the one crushed
when your glances meant nothing
half your light was me

Writing Streak 2 Week 3 Day 3

dear god
im writing to ask you
why is world the round

why must the sun go down
why mustnt we see the other side
and why
must the horizon forever be out of reach

why cant the world stretch out
why must what goes around come around
please tell me why
the same places keep reappearing
never letting me escape


 

Writing Streak 2 Week 3 Day 2

the imposter stared
but didn't see

the imposter inhaled
but didn't breathe

the imposter listened
but didn't hear

the imposter laughed
but didn't feel

the imposter kissed
but didn't love

i watched
and i also saw

i cried
and i also hurt

i looked like I longed
and i promise you i did

so i decided to free my heart
and thats what i did

and when i kissed
and laughed
and listened
and inhaled
and stared
i felt the world in my grasp at last

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 1

the village was my home
it was a home that
was familiar
in the way that an old scab
is familiar

its wintry nights scratched me
the days of hunger hurt a little
the thirsty evenings
annoyed every bit of
patience out of me

a medicine is what i need
i thought

i found a nice mountain
but
the i didnt like the mountain
at all
i liked the peak

the climb also scratched me
the long treks hurt like hell
and with no patience to run on
the billowing winds turned
annoyance into
rage

but i reached the peak

im still at the peak
i still have everything
i still dont want to lose anything

yet still i dont have enough
because
with nothing left to gain
i
 miss
      home.

The emotions you never speak

Writing was always a difficult, monumentally terrifying task. When you live life like a closed book pretending that all truth can be found in its cover, every secret emotion that flares up inside you only ever really escapes through writing. But the escape is an angry euphoric noisy silent rambunctious devastating rejuvenating spectacle that makes living life rather difficult.

When you do things that you don't understand, with consequences that frighten you, writing comes out and maps out your exact thoughts, emotions and values with almost alarming intricacy and accuracy. The world continues to see you as a two-dimensional figure; some friends admire you as the perfect, together girl, yet others see you as a hopeless mess with dreams that you could never persevere to pursue. To contradict all, your writing reveals a character so complex that no one could even come close to scratching the surface in a dozen human lifetimes.

An example of this complexity is the concept...

Dreamless Life

You can't write if
you can't read.

You can't sing if
you can't eat.

You can't grow if
you can't breathe.

You can't work if
you can't yearn.

You can't play if
you can't rest.

You can't dream if
You can't learn.

You can't do anything if
you're me 

 

Priceless Treasure

Your mouth moves in ways I've never seen before. I smile serenely and caress the sound it makes with my ears. The words you say bounce and fly, moving in ways that dazzle me. My pleasant, soft replies clutch onto the words, promising to keep this priceless treasure safe.

Our voices seem friendly, slightly aloof, but kind. Casual and ordinary. But can't you feel the music underneath? How can something so strong be born merely from my mind?

Our talk moves to discussing my mother, who watches from above. Your voice says "I'm sorry", and your eyes show sadness, but I feel something more. Can Mama see it too?

Silence makes its way upon us, but never was there a silence so warm and comfortable. You sneeze into your shoulder, and I say, "Bless you". You smile. 

Can you hear me? I'm so certain that hear you. Doesn't that smile say something more than what others would see? 

I'm waiting,...

Fiery

Majestic and blazing,
My breath is stolen
By the black dark shadow of
All that golden

Drawing me in and
Driving me crazy
Never was there anything
So intoxicating

Fierce with life
A life I never had
It's beautiful It's terrible
Its raging and mad

Tiny and welcoming
A tip of warmth on a candle
Yet still proud and ferocious
There's not a thing it can't handle

How would it be
If it gave it's life for mine?
Then I, too, can breathe fire
And learn how to shine

Angels

Who I am right now
is ugly and beautiful,
weak but so strong,
gentle but tough,
flawless yet scarred.

My kindness, my caring,
It's all there.
But so is my temper,
My anger,
My violent outbursts.

When I die,
Who will I become?
When the scars are covered up,
The anger is hushed,
And the bursting energy
Simply falls away,
Who am I?

Flawless and beautiful,
Kind, gentle and proud.
A two-dimensional shadow.
Nothing but
A diminished angel.
Perfect in every way
But
Missing personality.

When I die
Will all that be lost?
When the last remnants of memories.
made by those who saw and felt
all my flaws,
Fade away
I'll truly be gone.

Soulless and Evil #Howdy

She could see those unblinking eyes as she peered through the darkness. The mirror was covered in filth; it almost made its depths look smoky. The darkness was dense and dirty. Her eyes were shielded by a layer of smog. But, even then, she could make out that thing stirring in her eyes...

"Well hello there stranger." Her quiet voice bounced off the grimy walls despairingly. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again."

Silence.

"I didn't think I'd be coming back."

"Clearly." She was now speaking loud and clear. A pause. "I expected better of you."

"And I of you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea what I've been through?" she hissed. "What I've put others through?"

Her stomach lurched at the memories. Those past few months flashed through her mind, each one stabbing at her painfully. She took a shaky breath. Her numb mind and reality were hovering murkily around each other, but they were threatening...

Pictures in my Heart

Each breath becomes part of me
I hold on to them
Taking pictures in my heart

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 2

The easiest person to empathise with is yourself.

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 1

Procrastination is my miserably failed attempt to prolong my life.

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 5

I love days that are homework-free! Ah, those are the days when I can do anything, when the freedom makes my head spin, when every dream feels at my fingertips. Those are the days when I really do believe that I can and will do everything I've ever wanted to do.

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 4

Accomplishment...I love how it warms me up...How it fills me up...How it makes me so happy about the fact that I'm just myself... But the strangest part is that it makes me feel so fulfilled, and so content, that, without fail, it makes me feel that I would be happy to die.

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 3

I love music. Sometimes I like playing it, and I really like singing it (in all its glory, with the voice-cracks and all), but mostly I love listening to it. It has a power to free my mind of thoughts, mostly by filling up all the space. Silence brings on some sort of an anxiety.

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 2

I love it when people say my name to address me. I don't exactly know why. It's one of those things that make me feel 'warm and fuzzy'. Maybe it's because it feels more personal. Or maybe I'm just so touched that they were bothered to learn my name. 

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 1

I love it when my writing flows freely, those moments when there are no barriers between my mind and my hand. I love that feeling of invincibility it gives me. After all, if you can translate your thoughts into words, then you really are capable of accomplishing anything. 

Nostalgia

Come that time
When the air starts to warm
When the skies are alive
Bursting with colour,
One should pause
And take a moment to breathe
For at this buzzing time
The air smells of memories.

Here, where the breeze smells
Of honey and roses
And the skies breathe softly,
One can live
In moments that have past
But will never be gone
For the air preserves them.

Here, where the sun dances
Between shadows
Leaping across bushes
Bars of light reaching out, 
I can see sweet times,
Breathing in those
Emotions,
Soaking up those experiences
And listening to those voices.
I know that these will come 
Again and again
For the air preserves them.

Here, where I float through
A breeze that hugs me
Like a light blanket
And the wind whips 
With chilly gusts
Biting and pinching,
Raising me alive.
Here, it isn't preserved
Moments I breathe
But the scent of times
In the making
Where the skies...

Open Prompt

Subconscious

How does one describe
The shadowy, dark,
twisted feeling
Of contentedness
Mingled with fear
The unknown
Stalking our thoughts
Darkness blanketing
Everything
Images so surreal
Which is comfort
But further darkens 
Every wandering thought
How does one describe 
Realities free of horror
That still turn our stomaches
Faintly paining our hearts?

But still come those
Other nights
When our chests feel
Free of shackles.
How does one describe
That lightness
That freedom from worry
Where the surreal still remains
But the magic is so much more.
Where your soul 
Believes
That this moment can fly.
Where your heart
Knows
This occurs behind
Sheets and pillows
But still rejoices.
 

Solidarity

Connections

Movement in the air is none
And time is empty of life
Yet still my story has pages full
And my heart beats with hope

Oceans of time it has been
Since warmth was exchanged through touch
Yet still when I stop and breathe
I feel a loving embrace

Death and fear whisper harshly
Smiles are so rare and unseen
Yet in the depths of my home
Laughter rings out merrily

Although I can no longer
Recall the shape of your smile
I feel you here beside me
With every breathe that I take

Although the space divides us
Our bonds can only strengthen.
My heart caresses the truth
That you can feel what I do

Connections between our hearts
Still stretch across distances
Twisting, twirling in the wind
Sparkling with colour and light.

When the stars become brighter
With cleared vision, we will see
That connections and friendships,
Memories that embrace us
Can be made anywhere.