I Love You Before Its Time

It sounds like a love story, but really, it's an experience I wouldn't repeat. He said it first, and I never returned it, which makes me sound like a bitch, but you'd understand - it was far too early, and by the time it was rectified, it was far too late.

Say you meet someone. You're without your friends, and you're forced to interact, an anti-social teen's worst nightmare. Somehow, though, in that hour and a half, the interaction became infinitely easier, the conversation and laughter flowing, and you think, this may be alright.

It takes a couple of months for that to turn into words like 'I love you', and even a secretive letter of confession to be passed. Your phone numbers change hands, and it begins.

It takes you a while to recognise the number that's calling, even a few hang-ups, but once you begin to answer, you realise.

You're crap at phone calls.

At least, in real life, you're lead by physical cues, body language and such, but on a phone, the only cue you have is silence, and by then, you're left with nothing to say.

I couldn't tell you how it slipped into the conversation, three words I couldn't respond to, but it did.

That period of silence from before, it gets worse; it's like you can hear somebody's heart dropping when there's nothing in return. You know it as well as I do, though, you don't say it unless you mean it.

All of a sudden, you're frightened. Never one to dive in straight away (unless the water's welcoming), your stomach bubbles with apprehension, and you can't stand it.

What was once easy conversation, slips into nothing, as that friendly little apprehension shrouds all.

In the end, it's scary, but if there's one thing I'd encourage, it's working at your own pace, and don't push yourself to walk at another's speed, because you can easily get lost, and unable to catch up, but feeling like you have to.

* * *

This occurred back in April last year, and I've kind of ignored it since then, other than the weekly reminder when I see him, but I thought I'd talk about it, because I don't think it's wrong to turn somebody down if it doesn't feel right!

Also, sorry I've been AWOL, been kind of caught up in school and naps ... there's been a lot of napping going on. But we're on holiday now! Fun and revision and fun!

Night everyone, also follow my twitter! I also recommend twitter chats, they're really entertaining!

A Meteorologically Emotional Sponge

I'd rather relate my emotions to nature, rather than colours;

You can describe your sadness as a sombre blue, or your anger as a hellbent red,

but nobody sees colours the same.

We all know the feeling of rain upon our skin, or understand the ferocity of a volcano,

So why not write something understandable,

something with which you can empathise?

Quite stereotypically, Happiness, like sunshine, features clear, crystal blue skies.

When you're happy, there's nothing coming to bring you down,

no clouds to ruin your day

Which brings me to Depression, swiftly followed by sadness.

Depression can be seen in the clouds, you know the ones;

They appear on the sunny days, without warning, without precedent,

but they're there, and they can't be shaken, nor can they be stirred.

They appear to follow you, lurking in the peripheral, and the worst?

Clouds are there at night, silent in their journey, but their presence loud, somehow disturbing the peace in its soundless path

Sadness, the rain of life, can be sudden but long-winded. 

Like its sister Depression, once Sadness has arrived, he is ever-present until he deems the time fit for him to make his exit, until he is next needed

Then, the more destructive of the spectrum, with the potential to put you, and all in your proximity at risk.

Anger, purely volcanic in its eruptions, begins with a building of pressure, the boiling of blood.

The magma builds, and suddenly it is all-encompassing.

No warning, no idea of when, but you know it's coming.

Eruption, pure, and unobstructed chaos as it rains upon all available.

No direction, no location.

Just Anger

Stress is the silent killer. It's fine for a while, challenging even.

However, it continues to pile, building upon the mountain that it has subsequently buried.

You think it's safe, nothing dangerous, and you begin to ski.

That is your downfall, It's testing the waters that triggers it.

You see, earthquakes can be ran from, volcanoes can be escaped,

but an avalanche buries you beneath its wrath

In the end, though, we need this weather to balance our lives;

We need sunshine to dry the marshes that constant rain causes;

We need the rain to drench the cracked soil from the drought;

We need the clouds to interrupt the sunshine;

And we need the light times to counteract the dark.

Writing Wednesday ~ December #1

I see you've decorated

He'd left that morning with his house a cornucopia of 'spooky', orange and black, and all things haunted.
Now decked in festive reds and greens and all things jolly, the only thought available to him was: My girlfriend has far too much time on her hands."At last, he returns!"She descended, obscured by the piles of tinsel amassed in her arms. Smile as bright as winter sun, she leaned forward from the bottom step to kiss him, proceeding to dump the coarse glitter heap into his arms, outstretched for a hug.
With a huff and an accommodating roll of the eyes, he trails after her into the living room, where the festive extravaganza continued to make itself at home. She'd staved off on the tree - he would have protested that addition in his absence - but other than that, there wasn't much she'd missed, stockings on the mantle, pillows covered appropriately on the couch, even a sprig of mistletoe in the corner, ready to be unleashed on any unwitting guests in the doorway.
"I see you've decorated."
"Can't say I'm not organised," she returned with a shrug, holding a string of tinsel up towards the back wall.
Stepping forward to wrap his arms around her waist, he rested his head on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, it's November," he smirked, turning his lips into her neck.
"You wouldn't complain if I started celebrating your birthday a month early." Her gaze turned to the ceiling, "I want to make it the best."
"In years to come, he probably won't remember that his mother decorated a month early."
"We'll remind him. It's the first year he understands what Christmas is, let me enjoy it."
"You're still worried about him growing up."
"Isn't every mother?"
Spinning her in his arms, a hand shot towards the table, plucking the mistletoe from it, holding it above their heads. "Don't. Enjoy it. Enjoy this."
Most men would protest, coming home to find a veritable Christmas invasion just past their doorstep, but he hadn't exactly married her for anything else.
"Merry Christmas."

* * * * *

Guess who's doing Christmas themed Writing Wednesdays! Well, they're festive, really, so you can change this if you celebrate something else! I'd love to know!

5 Wednesdays, hopefully 5 Writing Wednesdays, we'll see. 

Currently on my second day of mock exams here, 3 down and another 8 to go, but by this time next week, I will have completed them, and have celebrated that with an awards night for Duke of Edinburgh, so the countdown will continue.

So yeah, fluffy writing every Wednesday this December, let's see if I can beat last year for cuteness.

Have a good week if I don't reappear!

NaNoWriMo 2015

As I mentioned in my last post, I aim to at least better my attempt at NaNoWriMo, hopefully from Camp in April, seeing as I managed about three sentences this time last year.
I have three ideas currently. More titles, really. One of them doesn't even have a title, so I can't even say that.
I'll just describe them already instead of debating what to class them as.

- Eyes of the Reaper

I've actually got a tiny bit down for this. Basic idea is, as I described it to a friend:
Say there were a reaper, sent to collect by a higher power. He does so obediently, for centuries unbothered, until he recognises the face of the one he's collecting. He's seen it before, several times in fact, how has he collected the same person so many times?

And because stuff it, here's what I wrote the other night.
* * *

You're not supposed to interfere, it had been drilled into him since he started. You go, you collect, you return; three steps, that he had followed to the letter since he turned; three steps he would follow to the letter until his sentence was served; three steps he'd never seen the need to disobey. 

A routine. If he were to call it anything, it would be a routine. He listened for his orders, grim as they were. Then again, it was in the job description. A description of the scene, exactly who he was collecting, and he was gone. 

'Better to forget' 

Since he began, it had been better to forget that it was people, like he had been. Better to forget that they had lived lives, be they long or short. Better to forget that the souls he was collecting were dead. 

- When Call My Demons

So this doesn't necessarily have an idea attached to it, so is subject to change. My thought is that maybe it could be about a demon (I'm all about the hellbeings apparently) who's assigned to a family, or a lineage, or something of that style. I feel like this demon would be the kind who's not tied by their own will, more cursed to be, and is called upon by the family members whenever they require some 'assistance'.

- ???

It doesn't have a title, but I just generally want to play with a fairy tale, twist it and mould it into something completely else than its original state, like Chanda Hahn's UnEnchanted (also originally a NaNo project), and the TV shows Grimm (David Giuntoli though), and Once Upon a Time; these two shows kind of contradict each other, as one shows the dark side of the creatures from the Grimm brothers' tales, whereas Once Upon a Time, whilst attempting to feature darker themes, doesn't really manage it.