Mavromichaelis

do bees and butterflies alike smile at someone that makes them happy? until they realize the faded words come into view---they were fuzzy and distant, and I couldn't hear them against the oceanic waves of emotion---and the words are hurtful and detrimental. They didn't have this effect on me until I saw the way my heart was rotting on the very bottom of my left ventricle. The muscle weakened now and atrophied to the likeliness of grapes left on the vine for wine making. They are forced to go through the harsh cold winters, dying still attached to the branch, attached to the stem, attached to the ground and the earth all for the delicious desserts of beautiful wine. Why let my heart dry up and rot like those grapes just for your fancy? I am not a grape vine growing in your vineyard. I am my own body, my own mind and soul, my own tree. And this tree does not want to rot.

MPRCunha

Hello M. C. Michaels! Just dropping by to thank you for checking out one of my stories, taking the time to comment on it and even adding it to your list. It means a lot to me, and I'm glad you enjoyed it <3 Your profile aesthetic is gorgeous, by the way, and so are the covers of your books. They all seem so intriguing and might check them out in the future!

Mavromichaelis

Aw thank you! I tailored my profile to a story of mine that I haven’t made public, but I do like the idea of matching styles to my writing.
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Mavromichaelis

do bees and butterflies alike smile at someone that makes them happy? until they realize the faded words come into view---they were fuzzy and distant, and I couldn't hear them against the oceanic waves of emotion---and the words are hurtful and detrimental. They didn't have this effect on me until I saw the way my heart was rotting on the very bottom of my left ventricle. The muscle weakened now and atrophied to the likeliness of grapes left on the vine for wine making. They are forced to go through the harsh cold winters, dying still attached to the branch, attached to the stem, attached to the ground and the earth all for the delicious desserts of beautiful wine. Why let my heart dry up and rot like those grapes just for your fancy? I am not a grape vine growing in your vineyard. I am my own body, my own mind and soul, my own tree. And this tree does not want to rot.