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There is an Art There is an art to reading a book.There is an Art by ~Knockonthedoor
First of all, you must explore it. Wallow in the luxury of stroking the ridges of its pages- preferable chunky- from the outside, of tracing each neatly printed word on the front. Let your fingers idle along all of its creases and curves, so new and neat. Drink in the words on the back- let them stream into your head and run a river around your imagination.
Now you may be allowed to open it. Feel the pages. They could be rough, grainy, like sand. But sand can prevail shells, and so could the tale inside, with its pages that range from soft ivory to the kind of yellow of a grubby tooth. Treat them gently- t
Broken People The world is full of broken peopleBroken People by ~Knockonthedoor
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On one side of town, there is an old woman in the street, and she studies every face that passes with an intense, milky gaze. She grasps her walking stick with one crooked, nut-brown hand to steady herself, and hopes it will make the bustling crowd stay still so she can search a little harder. Her throat tightens and tightens until she should no longer be able to breathe, but she does, and each breath in layered with a gust of pain and loss. But does anyone notice as they bustle along that grey slice of pavement? Of course not.
Was that him? Maybe it was. Should she check? Should she r
The sound of the sea All around me, there was water.The sound of the sea by ~Knockonthedoor
That was my first, perfectly calm thought as I was slammed out of my boat and into the suffocating blackness. I was already battered by wind, rain and salty sea spray from above, and now I felt almost completely beaten- limbs akimbo, attempting to find a handhold in amongst the burning iciness.
I refused to breathe, feeling the slightest smoulder in the bottom of my lungs, flailing helplessly in the swirling water. What way was up and what way was down was a mystery, for the sky had been as black as the depths. Panic overwhelmed me- suffocated me more than any body of water could, froze my heart into a concre
maybe in the morning, -maybe in the morning, by ~rachel-rhapsody
she remembers watching the sunset from her father shoulders and thinking that it was as if the sun was dying. as if its long life was slowly falling away behind the skyline and that it sprayed colors across the ever-darkening sky to remind people that death is a beautiful thing. that in the morning, a new sun would rise and everything will be bright.
when she dies, she wants to go out like a sunrise. she wants people to watch in awe as she changes everything just one last time and makes death beautiful.
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she's older now, and she imagines that death is like being awake at night; the comforting silence and the dark that accompanies
Sta.sh
I wanted to thank you for the support and the faves, sorry it took me so long to thank you
Much appreciation,
- Omri
( `leoraigarath )
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Some days I write those words, others they write me.
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God did not create evil, evil is only the absesnce of God.
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Handmade jewellery on Etsy
Avatar made by ~xcocainekissesx
And thanks for the watch and fav! I see you're a writer too, so when my life is less hectic, I'll be sure to drop by and leave some comments.
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"in the dying light you tasted like smoke and syrup and loss." - fairgrounds
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Just a poor college student with a passion for photography
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Taste is the Enemy of Art