Catharsis | On Hold
Perhaps tomorrow, the flowers will begin to bloom for you, too. Wattpad Pick - 4/19/18 (Pocketful of Posey) Featured on TeenFiction (Trending Teen Fiction) Featured on WattpadPoetry (Heart Stains)
Perhaps tomorrow, the flowers will begin to bloom for you, too. Wattpad Pick - 4/19/18 (Pocketful of Posey) Featured on TeenFiction (Trending Teen Fiction) Featured on WattpadPoetry (Heart Stains)
"Maybe it isn't that we're supposed to find the pieces and put them back together. Maybe we're the pieces."
My body is a dead language and you pronounce each word perfectly. -u.k. (Non-Fiction: #31 Poetry: #90)
A shoebox collection of short fables, stories in verse, discontinued manuscripts, and other fluffy curio. Featured by Wattpad under "Short Story" from October 2013 to 2015.
A collection of tragedies of sorts, of demons or angels (whatever you'd fancy to call them) that lurk and/or gleam in my mind. Written when the moon's dreary and the sun's near awakening. Obnoxiously metaphoric, subtly inspirational. © Jake Sullivan, 2014
"human beings are works in progress who mistakenly think they're finished" © taekth 2016
This is simply a collection of dialogues that I create (mostly to expand the fences I've naturally built around my writing skill set). Nothing more, nothing less -- unless your brain takes my words and twists and contorts them into something much more beautiful than they ever were on the screen. Some texts may be flow...
dear oliver: there's something i have to tell you. lilly. [ 11 | 30 | 14 - #146 Teen Fiction ] [ © jude rigor two-thousand-&-fourteen ]
A/N: This is an unedited, significantly different version of the soon to be published novel by losangelesque aka L. Akhter. This draft was written when I was 15-18 years old and I highly encourage new readers to read the published version instead. Former high school football star Frank Novak meets profound and depress...
❝he wasn't looking for anything permanent, and she knew; but unlike everyone else, she didn't care.❞ timid but thriving, blair was anything but opposed to making friends with the tall, mysterious, blue-eyed boy playing guitar on a bench at one a.m. outside the city she lived in. loud but withdrawn, van wasn't like...
♥ so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater ♥ a collection of drabbles, musings, and poetry.