sadness through my path
hapiness is a light latern of alive
my name is Rose
with wheezeling inside/Seed
It is two o'clock at dawn on my corridor. Quietly and cold at moment. A grey colour paints on the wall makes a blur of my way. I am still here, laying on my bed. Doing nothing just figure out upon my head. Touch the humbling face on melancholy remains. Remind sweeps slidely on walking mind. Never think of drowning, just traversing between words.
Rose is my name, combinations between beautiful creature and sharpen thorn. My story began about two months ago when I met him, Sebastian. His proffession is writer. He loves his world in writing. Believe or not we met each other by unreal connecting but it has been related now.
Time to time words became a good friend. Present the feeling by something in different common. Until one day, Sebastian was missing without any reason. He lefted as like a darkness making wild imagination on my thoughtful. This is a story of whispering.
***
/Thorn
Side by side by darkness venue inside. Tears down creepy on my black eyes. As like diamond glows at the earth of ground.
"Where are you, dear?. I am missing you softly here. See me now, I bleeded so many time to stand this love still. Without direction, lost in night skies" spoken through awhole thorn myself.All the tears taste the pain. Let down to fall apart got through of loneliness days. Get to leave, but Sebastian that I needed. Logical seems to be blind. My hope was lost at somewhere.
Since now, whatever the story has begun I should realize this love must be unreal. He was dumping me makes me drowning in the darkness alone. Hurt me easily as a knife slicing my veins. Where should I hide if the love's taste eats me so greedy. Where is the love? If it is just absurd love storyboard. I do not know, was lost through the atmosphere. When the love has no name, is Rose story.
*moonstone
YOU ARE READING
When The Love Has No Name
Short StoryIt is dawn here, silent and dark. Laying down on my bed, thinking on my head. This bluring room is as my roam, without colour, but its longing. Really, it is cold here, without accompany. Why is so sadness through my path, if the happiness is a ligh...