Insight Stories

❛❛Interviews are acts of elegance- a luxury people can utilize to know insights, a few that can provide so. ❞ Welcome to Luxe talks- a place where we interview people and make an attempt to know about the thought process, ideas, and in the end, perhaps take away something valuable from it! Check out our interviews and get yourself interviewed! Blurb Credits: @jadequila Graphic Credits: _BLACKSPADESZ Introduction Credits: Ansha_Writes Credits: @dead_poet_7 @Jincymin @-Chrysalis_Realm **This work is not affiliated with Wattpad.**

She never loses. She observes. She anticipates. She controls. Men are patterns. Predictable moves on a chessboard she knows too well. Until him. He doesn't chase. He doesn't react. He doesn't play. And for the first time... she's not sure she's the one in control. In Paris, between cold nights and calculated messages, one thing becomes clear: the real danger isn't losing. It's feeling.

All flavors of verse found here.

e · piph · a · ny | noun | definition; a moment of sudden revelation or insight. "Without the quest, there can be no epiphany." [Updated upon revelation] {Cover by @fangirlingxevrything © 2016}

an introvert's blog {not currently updating}

Life as we know it, and the obliviousness within it. (Quote supported)

TW: Domestic Abuse i sat down and decided to write about something sensitive. i tried getting insights from people i knew and my own knowledge of psychology and abuse to attempt to give perspective on an abusive relationship from the POV of the abused. i made this to give insight and spark discussion.

This is my story through poetry. It was inspired by Ellen Hopkins, so it is similar to her free verse, looking quite the same way. But, with my words. This is based off of a low point in my life. It's a true story. Thanks a bunch if you check it out. Means a lot.

Some random but inspirational thoughts that just come to me. Feel free to see how I pick up myself when I trip over problems.

At some point this year I ended up with three books. Then four. Now I have twelve and the one that is on its way. It's not that bad for a person who happened to load half a truck with books in one of the moves to a new house some years ago. To write every day is not a job nor a hobby. It is a necessity that comes from bowels as if it was hunger. She needs to write the way she needs to breathe. She breathes more than she writes. She breathes all the time when she studies, she breathes all the time on her way to the university. She may write in her head during those moments too, but for sure there is no notepad in her hand in which she notes every word or sentence. However, some phrases remain. Blank pages are only clean for an instant. For her, starting to write does not exist. I do not care if people do not know me. I know that if I had a wake (which I am not going to) and people started talking about me, they would realize no one really knew me completely. I do not think we are able to know the rest. Not being able to talk about certain things had put her in the position of trying to be, either fine and smiling, or sad and frustrated about other things. To Elizabeth and Gregory

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