"When The Bluebells Ring." _MissyPissy_

"When The Bluebells Ring." _MissyPissy_

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WpMetadataNoticePublikasi terakhir Rab, Jul 13, 2022
⚠️This Story is a work of Fiction⚠️ (Any characters and places are purely made by imagination. Anything similar to something in reality are possibly due to plain coincidence only.) ⚠️Errors Ahead⚠️ (This story is not yet revised. I will be fixing the errors once I finish the whole story, so I beg your pardon if the grammatical errors bother you, including for the errors itself.) Lars Meretlein is a professional photographer who does landscape photography for a living. He's quite famous in cities as 'The man who doesn't exist' but his photographs all over the world beg to disagree. Lars in short for Leander, lives deep in the woods wherein people would fail to believe if these things are even real or if the department just creates these CGI's to make their field in photography more known. Only little number of people have met Lars and could recall meeting him in person. They themselves are also his only anchor in making his work known and possible. All besides the point, Lars have witnessed the biggest twist in his life that have made him doubt everything, which includes his own existence. Was the happening all a dream? Or was he becoming delusional? Is the isolation from the whole world starting to affect him? Or was the happening just as surreal as the place he's living in. Interested? You may read my story for free, now! Thank you and enjoy!
Seluruh Hak Cipta Dilindungi Undang-Undang
#240
enchanted
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Some dreams are just fragments - light and sound, fleeting and strange. But others... They settle into your chest like old memories, soft and impossible to forget. This is a story about one of those dreams. About a girl whose quiet heart began to remember a life she had never lived - not here, anyway. And a boy whose presence crossed time, space, and reason. A boy who said nothing at first... Only smiled. Only stayed. Together, they built a world between sleep and waking - a place of benches under cherry blossoms, of whispered comfort, of guitar strings and warm hands. And every time she returned, the dream knew her name. But the lines between dreaming and remembering began to blur. One day, she would open a photo... And realize it wasn't just a dream after all. Because when love is real - real enough to survive distance, silence, and the pull of two different dimensions - it doesn't disappear. It waits. It remembers. It protects. And it whispers... "I'll always be here."

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