Valerie.
  • Reads 593
  • Votes 43
  • Parts 9
  • Time 21m
  • Reads 593
  • Votes 43
  • Parts 9
  • Time 21m
Ongoing, First published Feb 08, 2016
Scrittrice di ''Escape from Melbourne, from me.''

-''A dirla tutta, io sono innamorata di te, Valerie.''- tirò un sospiro di sollievo. 
Non aggiunse altro. Io la guardai negli occhi. 
-''Okay, ho capito.. non ti preoccupare.'' - abbassò lo sguardo andandosene. 
Io mi alzai di scatto, la presi per il braccio e la baciai. 

Le sue labbra erano così soffici, che quasi non mi volevo staccare. Provai dentro di me una nuova sensazione, una sensazione bellissima. La feci sedere accanto a me e la strinsi.
Mi sorrise.

-''Cosa vuol dire questo Valerie?''-mi guardò.
-''Che mi sono innamorata dei tuoi occhi prima che io li incontrassi.''-
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.
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Slide 1 of 10
Echo of the Past cover
"My Little Monster~"|| Selever X Reader [DISCONTINUED] cover
Sweet But Psycho cover
The Great War cover
Mr. Regnante [Mafioso Book#1] (SAMPLE) cover
VISIT TO MILAN cover
Fate cover
Labyrinth of Emotion (Ouran High School Host Club fanfic) cover
The Satan's Eve (Completed)✔ NOT EDITED cover
The Youngest of the Family cover

Echo of the Past

30 parts Complete Mature

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.