The Flower that Bloomed in Winter
- LETTURE 295
- Voti 22
- Parti 7
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Singed - My demon
A happy childhood, a so-so adolescence. Then adulthood arrived, and everything went to hell. And by everything, I mean it. Grown-up life is truly a wonderful, dazzling adventure! A job that drains your soul, stripping away any will to live while fueling a more or less justified homicidal instinct; depression knocking at the door with a lovely bouquet of red roses and, last but not least, the remnants of a social life buried somewhere under my shoes. Not the ones I'm wearing now; those are slippers, big difference. I mean the pretty ones in the cabinet that I haven't touched in five years. Love can be destructive. It catches you, ensnares you, devours you, and if you're unlucky enough, it leaves you standing in nothing but your underwear before reducing you to ashes. I had made peace with my "and she lived single, forever unhappy but safe" fate. A house, one, four, eight, maybe twenty cats and a future as flat as a heart monitor that's given up the ghost. No joys, minimal suffering, because there's only so much a heart can take before it calls it quits. And honestly? Fuck it, I'd been through enough. ... But he changed everything. In the worst, most terrifying way possible. From this abyss, I may never climb back out.
Orange Juice
It truly is interesting how much the littlest most unnoticeable of occurrences could alter the entire inscription of written human fate, like a mere box of orange juice, for example. That drags along the question of whether fate is pre-written with all the alterations that happen during one's life or if it writes itself along the way. For that Sunny often wondered how her life would have carried along if she had never gone out to that specific gas station store for a box of orange juice where she had met the girl who was there to steal a bottle of strawberry liquor.Completa![Stained with blood [gxg]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/387796299-256-k526145.jpg)
Stained with blood [gxg]
Life doesn't hand us meaning. We're born into chaos, and it's up to us to find the smallest bits of order in the madness. Some say it's love, some say it's vengeance, but I've learned-nothing is truly worth anything until it's been stained with blood.Completa
Remember us?
We were everything to each other once secret-keepers, dreamers, two halves of the same heart. But then you left. Or maybe I did. Now, you look at me like I'm a stranger. Like the memories we built don't haunt you the way they haunt me. We're nothing more than rivals, two people who push and pull, who fight like we never bled for each other. But hate is just another form of love. And no matter how much we try to forget, the past has a way of catching up with us. Because deep down, we both know some people are impossible to forget.
A happy childhood, a so-so adolescence. Then adulthood arrived, and everything went to hell. And by everything, I mean it. Grown-up life is truly a wonderful, dazzling adventure! A job that drains your soul, stripping away any will to live while fueling a more or less justified homicidal instinct; depression knocking at the door with a lovely bouquet of red roses and, last but not least, the remnants of a social life buried somewhere under my shoes. Not the ones I'm wearing now; those are slippers, big difference. I mean the pretty ones in the cabinet that I haven't touched in five years. Love can be destructive. It catches you, ensnares you, devours you, and if you're unlucky enough, it leaves you standing in nothing but your underwear before reducing you to ashes. I had made peace with my "and she lived single, forever unhappy but safe" fate. A house, one, four, eight, maybe twenty cats and a future as flat as a heart monitor that's given up the ghost. No joys, minimal suffering, because there's only so much a heart can take before it calls it quits. And honestly? Fuck it, I'd been through enough. ... But he changed everything. In the worst, most terrifying way possible. From this abyss, I may never climb back out.
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