A hobbyist writer's little internet corner.
The pleasure of my soul her soft touch beckons me
a white sky filled with black crows
a shell that protects this fragile world
my pleasure in times of dread
protect me for a little while with your embrace
even if I forsake you you will be mine forevermore.
Made with love by Red.
Down, by the ocean floor, A tiny creature lays low. Tired of the everyday bore, It sets out to follow the current's flow.
The eternal knights of youth, Keeping your inner lies, When things go south, They silent your cries.
Once upon a time there was a magician with knowledge divine, that lived through ages, met kings, fought wars and put his life on the line. He was very well versed in the surrounding lands, where his lonesome tower always stands.
What is it that I seek in this grand hall of mine, where stories of a past long forgotten intertwine?
This scribble is unfinished, and the following post is a sample.
”... are you ready to explore the unknown?”
I'd like to retell you a chance encounter I had not too long ago. It happened on a windy, autumn evening. As I was walking through the old city center of Our Town, it started raining. Normally, I wouldn't pat it much attention, but I bought a new coat just yesterday and, fearing that it might get damaged, I quickly scurried to a nearby store that sold raincoats – an umbrella would be useless in the wind. I paid, put the raincoat over my dear new coat and planned to quickly walk to the nearest tram stop to get home.
It is May 3rd 1940. I rushed to my study to write these words as soon as possible, for I do not have much time left. The insanity of man is upon me. This is the 15th night I have woken up from the same nightmare. The previous days, I ignored the sweat, tears and shaking upon regaining my consciousness, but today I cannot bear it any longer. The nightmare is becoming so vivid, I am starting to question what is the true reality. It all starts when my wife and I go to bed in the evening.
“Is it really okay for us to be here?” I ask, my voice trembling as we pass a ‘Private property! Keep out!’ sign. She just glances at me over her shoulder and keeps moving on, slowly, yet with no hesitation in her step. “What, are you scared of a sign? Don’t worry – no one comes here, there are no guards nor cameras either.” She exhales. “Were you always such a coward?”
“That tickles.” She chuckles and shifts a bit in her seat. The touch of the brush's bristles send shivers down her spine, but she tries to endure it. I give her a faint kiss on her shoulder. “I know it does, but hey, you agreed to it.” She nods and I continue painting.