Just noticed that my multi-chapter whumptober fic is at 68 subs and 86 kudos. That’s a 79% subscription rate!
Not sure if people really want to know what happens next… or if they’re hate reading between their fingers and too ashamed to leave their name as kudos. :D
submitted by /u/tripleclickerThere are many types of love and most everyone has either felt love or actively been in love. Yet we take love at face value as just a feeling while never delving deeper. If a curious soul desires to look deeper into the heart, you will find where love develops. Inside of the heart is a garden. The garden is attached to the soul which makes every garden unique to their person. Each garden tells its tale of love and all of the adventures it has gone on. Love leaves its mark on the garden, whether good or bad. The garden is a novel, a photograph, an expression.
On the outside, its not obvious what a person has gone through or experienced. A happy, bubbly person who never seems to have a rainy day might have the most scarred heart and experienced extreme heartache. The garden matches and expresses the truth that the outer facade cannot show.
The garden starts in full bloom at birth. As they grow and go through the stages of life, the garden continues to flourish and bloom. Once a person experiences their first heart break, the garden has its first earthquake. Every heartbreak leaves a visual mark on the garden and that is one reason people say you always remember your first love. After heart break the flowers wilt, the soil cracks, and the patterns are disrupted.
As they move on and begin healing, so will the garden. The garden will begin flourishing until it is fully healed once more, except for the roses and the cracks. The roses will wait to bloom when the next adventure in love begins.
The next love interest appears and the garden slowly returns to full bloom. Until the next heartbreak. Then the next, over and over, the cycle of love and heartbreak repeats until they can take no more. The garden has no pattern left and hundreds of scars in the soil. Most of the flowers are dead, the remaining wilted. The roses were burnt to a crisp in the last heartbreak. All hope is lost and the garden visualizes that sentiment. All of the flowers have bloomed, even the back up bulbs. Or so they thought.
They have met another love interest, but they don’t know that this is *the* love interest. They start as friends and both the person and their garden have no hope, so they decide that love is off the table. Neither of them know of the daisy waiting patiently under the surface biding its time until the right one came along. As time passes, the bulb begins to bloom. The lone daisy grows to full bloom as the two begin to become closer.
At full bloom, the daisy gives both the garden and their person new hope. The garden uses this hope and the daisy begins healing once more. When the garden is healed the best that it can, the person will open up to love again. Time continues to pass and the garden creates a new pattern to fill in the gaps with the daisies. They had found love again and the garden was in full bloom for good.
Everyone experiences love and heartbreak. We are constantly reminded of the adventures we take and they leave their mark on us. The garden can and will tell our stories for us while holding its history close. The growing and healing process is just as significant as the adventures you go on.
Rowan Anners, 2020
Me: I will continue to write my story! So many ideas!
Notebook with 1% of battery: No, you won’t.
My brain: Bye bye, inspiration…
11:08 a. m.
my disappointments are weighing me down. everything seems a little out of my way. the twists and turns are rather disappointing and are all unbearable. i’ve always thought i was happy with how the road im taking is leading me but now, i don’t know anymore. im unsure about everything.
you see, i am the type of person that loves in an endearing way. will make you feel something people from your past haven’t let you feel before. i’d go jumping in the rain, snatching a heap of time on my oh so little spare time just to get you a new shirt. i’d always give and give even if i have less. i do that for love, it’s always like that.
with all these, i am not getting what i think i deserve. i am a freaking open book. you turn the pages, you’ll see one part of me, you’ll discover what i want and what makes me happy. is that too hard? im not asking for the stars and moon cuz that’s odd. the simplest things are what makes me overly happy.
these disappointments are weighing me down. im at the point of finding what i truly deserve. i dont think i can live like this for the longest time.
But think of how many roads you’ve been down already. You can handle these ruts too.
Why do you constantly complain that I am not writing anything of value when you know that you and your matadors gang are the very reason I am not writing anything,. so I cannot write because of your gang. Your complainIing makes it obvious your client does not want me to write anything and has been baiting me for almost a year now. Do not make your goals so obvious your client might get upset with you painting there name so large and loud
Balance – we burn,
We simmer, we fade, and
Dwindle in the cold of utter dejection
Till our ember’s grasped
By the hands
Carrying tinder; craving
Ignition and the flame with that
Specific flicker which
Mesmerizes
In a way that makes me think
Of all the times I watched a hearth die
Never realizing I was looking
Into the mirror;
Mine is the fire inside
Put to work, then maintained, or forgotten;
Heat, fuel, to me it’s all worthless
Without you, oxygen.
—
20-10-2020, M.A. Tempels ©
Yeah, she made a chapter talking about the dangers of STD’s and how we have to be careful. She also talked about how it was okay to masturbate and it’s actually healthy and stuff. She was really cool. I hope things are going good for her.
submitted by /u/Persona5isbeautifulSi hubieras escuchado los suspiros que los demás lanzaban cuando les hablaba de ti, no te hubieras ido, si hubieras visto lo enamorados que quedaban de la forma en la que llamaba tu nombre, no te hubieras ido, si hubieras presenciado lo enamorados que quedaban ellos de ti al pensar que un ser tan divino podía existir, no te hubieras ido, si hubieras escuchado las noches tristes en las que le rogaba al universo a gritos y hundida en un mar de lágrimas que te quedaras, no te hubieras ido; si me hubieras querido, al menos la mitad de lo que yo te amaba a ti, no te hubieras ido. Ahora me toca pedirle a todos que no te mencionen, que se desenamoren de aquella imagen tan sublime que pinté para ellos, que sigan adelante, que no conjuguen verbos que nos incluyan en la misma oración, ahora me toca llevarte en el corazón de manera silenciosa ya que no puedo llevarte de la mano, pero te juro que si hubieras visto cuánto lo intenté no te hubieras ido.
These
days I have not been myself. I feel as though I am drifting through a dream and
real life, floating somewhere in between. Its oddly comforting and frightening
at the same time. There is a sort of bliss in being unaware of where you are,
and who you are, at any given moment. but the still silence of my own mind that
used to be filled with ideas, thoughts and imagery has become damp, bleak and
quiet. What once harbored memories so fond to me, are slipping through the
cracks. It has become so eerily quiet; it is almost deafening. I am 22 years
old now. I know less now than I had known as a child, it is funny to think that
as a child you know more. What I long for now, are things I took for granted as
a child. Being so seemingly unaware of the past, or future and living from
moment to moment. I long for the days when I would go to the beach and dig my hands
into the wet sand, completely unbothered by the dirt that had made home under
my fingernails; just happy to be there. Now, I am painfully aware of every
moment, fleeting or stagnant. I cling on relentlessly until my hands shake, in
hopes that my struggle will one day be worth it. Yet sometimes I wonder, what
possessions, or amount of materials in this world is worth the sacrifice of our
own well being? Have we been created with the intention of self destruction? It
is frightening to me that we become so unaware of our own constant suffering that
it just feels normal. When life used to be filled with color, I now see beige.
Where I used to be present in the
moment, I am now floating above, waiting, wishing, hoping. Refraining from
asking myself; How long?
Often times find myself saying, this is poetic but it isn’t true. And I’d hear in compliant response, if it makes you feel something, then it must be true. Because feeling is our measuring cup for the elixir of life. It’s unfortunate, because feeling is beautiful when deeply, attentively, felt, yet dark and unrecognizable when turned a psychological hostage. That was once said about art in a similar fashion. If it evokes an emotional response, or reaction then its fulfilling its purpose as art. And this is simply an untruth, as our feelings have been manipulated by thousands of years of conditioning and assimilating. Even the art we’ve been told to love, because of lines. Life is happening outside the framework.
A thread pulled tight,
Taut.
The new default is deformed.
Broken.
Usefulness limited.
Is the pain of loosening it,
worth it?
Am I?
Quelle come me amano forte! Si…. fortemente con tutte se stesse, con il cuore e l’anima. Amano di un Amore immenso, che va oltre, sopra ogni cosa. Un Amore intenso che lascia il segno per sempre. Un Amore infuocato, ma anche spirituale, un Amore incondizionato…. non ci sono parole per descriverlo. E’ qualcosa di soprannaturale. Un Amore che va e dura oltre la vita terrena, che attraversa tutto l’universo… un Amore immenso……. infinito……. Eterno.
