Истории Metaphorical

"You don't build a future in a town you're passing through, Harry," she replied, her voice barely steady. "I'm not passing through." "You always are." Harry Styles was a man defined by the exit sign. Between the sold-out stadiums, the hazy recording studios, and a life lived through a tour bus window and private jet, he was a ghost in motion. He was the man who left; she was the one who stayed behind, rooted in the hills of Arezzo like the perennials in her garden, blooming in a cycle he never stayed long enough to see. . Exhausted by the glare of fame, Harry retreats to a quiet town on the outskirts of Arezzo, seeking refuge from the expectations that have defined his life. In a modest house with a serene, vibrant garden, he rediscovers stillness and simplicity, finding comfort in small routines and the quiet rhythm of daily life. But even in this hidden corner of Tuscany, human connection finds a way in, stirring curiosity, trust, and the gentle possibility of something more.

It started with something simple. A swipe, a match. A notification lighting up the screen at midnight. Two strangers who knew nothing about each other yet somehow stayed awake until 3 a.m. talking about everything. But one day... their last message is the only thing left. Not knowing what life has written for them.

A collection of poems about everything and nothing:)

Welcome to Poetry Roughbook. Not every poem begins as a masterpiece, and this one was never meant to be. Poetry Roughbook isn't a collection of perfect poems. Instead, it's a notebook of crossed-out lines, midnight thoughts, coffee stains, and messy drafts where ideas bloom, metaphors wander, and words slowly learn how to breathe. Every poem in these pages is based on prompts shared by Wattpad's Poetry Ambassadors. Each prompt is an invitation to experiment, challenge my creativity, and discover new ways to tell a story through verse. Some poems are polished. Others remain beautifully unfinished. Together, they capture a journey of learning, growing, and finding beauty in imperfection - one prompt, one page, and one poem at a time. This is a place for first attempts, quiet victories, imperfect metaphors, and poems that simply wanted to exist. So, if you don't mind a little mess, a little magic, and a lot of ink... Turn the page. I hope these pages feel a little like home. All poems are original unless stated otherwise. Prompt credits belong to their respective creators.

Where the flower blooms, the butterfly follows. She blooms quietly, like a flower waiting for sunlight. He drifts through life like a butterfly-drawn to beauty, terrified to land. When their paths cross, something shifts: her kindness becomes pollen he can't help but carry, and his silence becomes the wind that stirs her petals. But even the softest connection can change everything.

*FEATURED by _ShortStory_, dystopianapocalypse, Fright, and 4 others (all honors inside)* An enthusiastic fetus, a rebellious hound, an android child for sale, 'rain' that brings Happiness, a game that claims to be the key to world peace... the connection? Cavemen. Perhaps, humans have never left their Cave. Perhaps, Humanity is doomed to witness the same woes, the same horrors, not in a world of stones and bone spears but of androids and artificial rain. Deeply metaphorical, this story collection explores the immutability of human nature. Through cross-section story pairs, it draws parallels between snapshots of the Past and Present ("Cavemen" section) and of the Future ("Androids" section). Start date: February 23rd, 2019 End date: May 14th, 2019 Unpublished due to evolving creative interests then republished for personal reasons in 2026

Reflection of yourself

The story involves 2 kids, once as kids in the same neighborhood, who liked to play with each other. But...will it stay that way forever?

I wrote this after reflecting on how silence can become a survival skill. "The Knot Beneath My Ribs" explores childhood, family, grief, and the ways we search for belonging in places that sometimes hurt us even more

Just some words

short and feelings

I was hungry so I thought of something sweet and to eat that was easier than stealing candy from a baby. Hopefully you can read both versions.

Welcome to SHE BLED: JUST FOR BEING This is not a love story. This is a wound - a confession carved from truth, the kind people fear to speak but cannot stop feeling. I am their mirror. A puppet to my emotions, I dance to the pull of survival. Every page bleeds something different - pain, defiance, lessons learned in fire. There is no single plot here, only fragments of life. Each chapter stands alone, yet they all carry the same heartbeat: She bled. Just for being. She Bled for sad souls. This is a hub full of tears, aching, pain, longing, obsession, strength, questions and many more. Ranked #1 at Dark Poetry on 27th August Ranked #1 at Monologue on 28th September Ranked #1 at RealTalk on 15th October Ranked #1 at Dark Poetry on 28th October Ranked #1 at Metaphor on 9th November Ranked #1 at Darkthoughts on 9th November Ranked #4 at Poem on 9th November Ranked #4 at Poetrycollection on 9th November #3 at Poetrycontest on 9th November #4 at Deepthoughts on 9th November #6 at Relatable on 9th November #3 at Empowerment on 9th November #2 at therapeutic on 9th November #5 at Womanpower on 9th November #12 at Thewattys on 9th November #1 at Poetrycontest on 19th Nov #1 at Therapeutic on 20th Nov #3 at Relatable on 11th Dec #1 at Deepthoughts on 17th Dec

Here's to the whirling thoughts inside a fickle mind, comprising random scribbles and verses in metrical symphony!🌸 // Highest-ranking : #1 in verses #3 in strings #98 in poetry// ^_^

A compilation of some of some of the writing I do. Please feel free to check it out and give feedback. (Do read Rosa Juliet, it's my favourite piece)

Long night longs for my mind. ~stream of consciousness~

Poem

Ever since Konan had been diagnosed with ptsd, along with a form of mutism as the result, he had become mentally isolated from the world. To him time wasn't precious at all, just something he couldn't get rid of. Then finally he is about to enter high school, and what awaits there can only be described as komorebi.

04.04.2017

A poem written some time ago.