One Year Later

on Thursday, July 18, 2013


They made a promise a year ago.

“He’ll come. He’ll come.” She whispered to herself again and again. “He won’t break a promise.”

She was freezing, literally shaking in her boots. The snow fell faster but she once again hoped that he’d come.

She beamed when she saw him, holding an umbrella in his hand. He came closer. She sighed, not quite believing they were finally face to face again.

“Mike.”

“We made a promise, remember?” He whispered. “But why is life so unfair, April?”

She didn’t bother to choke back her sob.

He wouldn’t hear her – see her – anyway.



image credits to finntana-prompts @ tumblr

Souvenirs



Jane’s face was blank; a stark contrast to the smiling, vibrant girl she was in the pictures in her hands.

In every picture, she wasn’t alone. He was there, smiling and as vibrant as her.

She was going to burn them now. The girl and boy in the pictures were no longer them. She needed to forget.

She watched as each picture, their smiling faces turned into ash; the warmth of the flame kissing her fingers. A part of her knew it was a futile attempt. She couldn’t really forget.

Her heart would never forget.

Too bad memories last forever. 



image credits to Just One Of The People @ picship. Inspired a by a line from the song All This Time by Tiffany

Fairy Tale

on Wednesday, July 3, 2013


She lived in her own fairy tale.


She still believed in happily ever after and prince charming and good triumphs over evil even when reality – the whole world – said the opposite.

“It’s a lie.” People told her. “The world is dark and dangerous and sad and–”

“I would know.” She said. She remembered the times she was used, hurt and forgotten.

She believed in her happily ever after and prince charming and good triumphs over evil so that she had a reason to wake up next day.

So that she wouldn’t break whenever she was used, hurt and forgotten.



Image credits to Massahw @ picship

Alone



Seeing Paris in pictures is one thing.

Living in Paris is a different thing entirely.

She sits on one of the chairs in the balcony; steaming mug of hot chocolate in hand. The Eiffel Tower looks most beautiful at sunrise, she believes, wishing she has a camera. The view is breath-taking beyond belief and she knew that right there before her is beauty and simple happiness at their finest.

“But what’s the point?” She whispers to herself. “When I don’t have anyone to share it with?”

She looks back inside the room.

His side of the bed has been cold.



Image credits to Massahw @ picship