Comments Posted By circinus
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Don’t fret with my claims, dear love. I’ll protect you (from paintruthwordschoice), and I’m always true to my word, aren’t I?
Step away and come into my arms, precious.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.06.2013 @ 3:05 pm
You’ve always wanted to go to the moon. You wonder if it’s underwhelming to sit there, staring at the stars and the blue swirling marble below. Maybe you’d send moon rocks and space dust for our birthdays – a reminder that you’re still alive, and not very far away. Maybe we’ll see you twinkling in the sky, coated with astro dust and existing among the stars like the unreachable dream you are.
Maybe you’ll remember us, and I’ll be lucky to even see you again in a hundred years.
» Posted By Circinus On 12.04.2012 @ 7:48 pm
You’re pulling me in like an undercurrent, strapping me with talons and wires and jagged lines. I don’t know what will happen, what you want to happen, just that they will. This dread claws at my throat and pushes me under, pushes me back, until there’s nothing but the vastness of an overwhelming feeling neither of us can escape.
» Posted By Circinus On 11.27.2012 @ 9:51 pm
He’s an elegant boy; his movements subtle, laced with quiet arrogance and an uncanny secret knowledge of the grand scheme of things. He has a hidden smirk, as if he knows the world’s story from beginning to end. He watches people. They never watch him back.
It’s funny how the world misses out on so much, when they can just stare at this boy and see grace, beauty, and arrogant little smiles. It’s funny how I can see so much with just the way he picks up his coffee, smiling like the world doesn’t matter and time doesn’t matter and I…
“Oh, where are my manners?” he says. “I don’t think I particularly care, but what’s your name?”
» Posted By Circinus On 08.10.2012 @ 2:01 am
There’s something up there. I don’t know what or who. But sometimes she talks to me. It drives me crazy because it’s like talking to an imaginary friend that’s real.
» Posted By Circinus On 07.01.2012 @ 5:21 am
I want to go on the cross-roads; on a countryside road trip where the possibilities are endless and the highways can take us anywhere and everywhere. I want to feel the wind as we breeze by the open road, emptying our wanderlust with adventures and stories and people half a world across from our homes.
I want to see the world with my curious eyes, and I want to take you with me.
» Posted By Circinus On 06.05.2012 @ 12:29 am
Distantly, in a battlefield of blood and echoing cacophony, I hear you calling. Somewhere, you are there. Perhaps in a different time, in different circumstances, we could have been best friends. You are my most important person, and I’m glad to have met you.
» Posted By Circinus On 05.21.2012 @ 7:07 am
She thinks of Lord of the Flies and Catcher of the Rye. She doesn’t know why, but something about her friend’s novel makes her think of brooding teenagers and lonely islands. She wonders if that means anything to her friend.
» Posted By Circinus On 05.11.2012 @ 8:27 am
Her hope lies between summer and spring, the short period of time when the days are hot enough to warm her skin. She met him during the days one of the rare spring storms hit her little town, his smile infectious and engaging under the harsh wind. She can never forget him, because he’ll always greet her a good morning even when the storm wouldn’t let up.
» Posted By Circinus On 05.10.2012 @ 6:17 am
Dainty lips, chapped with lies and the insomniatic mind – I wonder how it would taste with mine, when our breaths mingle and there’s only the ghost of a distance between us. This gnawing curiosity is eating me, like a cancerous drug.
Your a sweet little thing. Do you know that?
» Posted By Circinus On 04.24.2012 @ 11:17 pm
He hasn’t the slightest idea. Sometimes, she wonders if he’s just dense, or if he’s really faking it. He’ll never know, she supposes, how attractive she finds those dark dark lashes of his. Or the way he scats a random melody; the do’s and mi’s and la’s that strike his tenor voice. He’ll never know, and maybe it’s better that way. The beautiful ones are more special when they’re unaware.
» Posted By Circinus On 04.19.2012 @ 9:46 pm
It’s a fixed state, this temporary happiness of yours. You long for something more each time, never content with what you have. It’s an admirable trait, this determination of yours – a sharp-edged blade in destiny’s face. You make your own fate – make everything better than it was before. You are a fixed inconsistency.
How can I fix you when you aren’t broken at all?
» Posted By Circinus On 03.21.2012 @ 10:24 pm
Bread is the staple food of this little village. He expected something weirder, like maybe goat feet or something. He didn’t know why. The village was unchartered in maps, located in the middle of nowhere, but it’s as normal as any other village can get.
It doesn’t stop him from thinking that something’s *wrong* with this village. He looks up to an abandoned house near the cliffs, and wonder what made him think that.
» Posted By Circinus On 03.18.2012 @ 5:25 am
There is drought and rain and winter leaves. We pass by this life once. And yet, it takes more than a lifetime to explain how much you love someone.
This place is temporary. Love is forever.
» Posted By Circinus On 03.15.2012 @ 7:06 am
The is drought and rain and winter leaves. We pass by this life once. And yet, it takes more than a lifetime to explain how much you love someone.
This place is temporary. Love is forever.
» Posted By Circinus On 03.15.2012 @ 6:57 am
In its invisible state
In its dying wake
A crescent shadow looming above because
It’s the only thing it knows
Or to be
Nothing else until quarter of a month passes
Constellations may align themselves
In the horizon
But it is still
Invisible in its dying wake
» Posted By Circinus On 02.28.2012 @ 4:08 am
It’s a gallery of movements – graceful, poised, and beautiful. She moves like a swan in those dusty floorboards and dim lights. She’s rehearsing dances in the dark because she loves being in the shadow’s limelight. Choreography is her rhythm, her body is her canvass, and she’s her own painter.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.22.2012 @ 3:31 am
Apathy is the curse of our generation. It is the trap of a cage, where we are enclosed in glass walls to overlook the world around us. We may see, but never touch – we don’t care enough to leave this prison of facts and facades. We live without really living; no emotions, no opinions – just survival at our too-white sleeves.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.21.2012 @ 5:18 am
“She’s kind of cute,” he says. “But she’s also a true blushing virgin, if there ever is such a thing. She’s so clueless! I tried to put the moves on her, but she doesn’t get it. A sheltered child, I’d say.”
I laugh at how much this bothers him. Clearly, society has changed and evolved the morals of man. Or at least, of this man.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.18.2012 @ 11:14 pm
He comes into the lounge at night because the rest of the students are already (should be) sleeping in their rooms. The music plays soft, and it’s so easy to lose track of what’s happening around him. It’s a comfortable place, and he dozes off at a comfortable pace even though he’s in the brink of sleep and wakefulness. This room is his haven; a three a.m. sanctuary of his own.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.18.2012 @ 7:07 am
They’re standing back to back, trying to be the pillar to the (only other) person who truly understands. They grope and grab and extend their hands, but they can’t reach what is not in front of them. He is the other person’s wall and boundary, and vice versa.
It’s funny how the one person who supports him upright is the one he can’t (touch, protect, pull into an embrace) meet face to face. They can’t be friends even if they want to.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.08.2012 @ 12:47 am
“Go ahead and fetch your camera. Go on, film the world before it happens.”
The music goes on, soothing her with the pluck of the guitars and the smooth baritone of the singer. She drowns herself in that song, because it describes her exactly who she is.
» Posted By Circinus On 02.06.2012 @ 12:49 am
What are the odds that our future is already set in stone? Maybe what we dreamed was meant to be, maybe not. Could our lives be predetermined? And if so, does this mean we have no free will?
It’s a lonely thought.
» Posted By Circinus On 01.29.2012 @ 6:45 pm
There are noises that scream through my ears. Sometimes I hear them. Sometimes I don’t. These noises don’t matter when my focus is on something else. After all, the need to achieve runs through my veins faster than sound could reach my ears.
» Posted By Circinus On 01.17.2012 @ 1:28 am
It starts from a single meeting, in a small town overlooked in city maps. They meet in a bench in a park. The girl is holding a cup of hot chocolate with just enough cream to make it look like coffee, and the boy is holding up a magazine. They don’t speak, but they meet every week in this fate-like coincidence. Everything starts with small little occurences.
» Posted By Circinus On 01.14.2012 @ 10:29 pm
I sometimes wish your eyes would speak something different from apathy. Your song means so much, but your eyes never communicate. It’s not that you’re indifferent. You’re just a concealed little shell drifting in the sea.
I want to be the one to pick you up and hold you to my ear, hearing the rush of the waves against the shore. I want to hear your heartbeat. Please, let it be me.
» Posted By Circinus On 01.13.2012 @ 2:05 am
She’s not a damsel in distress, or a princess in need of tender loving care. But she wants to be, for once, because it’s tiring being strong and brave and true. She wants to learn how to cry herself in the middle of the night, breathing through her mouth because her nose is clogged and waiting for someone to notice that she’s definitely not okay (she never has been)
» Posted By Circinus On 12.13.2011 @ 3:08 am
The limit of your reasoning is laughable, he says. He smirks, and sees the horizon in the skyline. He sees the future and the possibilities in his fingertips, and he can only laugh because he knows his future is set.
» Posted By Circinus On 11.30.2011 @ 6:47 am
The first thing he wanted to go to when he arrived in this pseudo-peaceful city was the museum.
It was boring, his sister said, but he went on anyway because he wanted to see the painting made by that genius his friend was bragging about that he knew. It was pathetic, really, but he can’t help admiring his bestfriend, and he feels like he’s closer to him by half a step if he sees all the beauty his friends sees.
One day, he knows, they’ll be equals. But that won’t be in a while, and he’s happy with the way things are for the moment.
» Posted By Circinus On 11.27.2011 @ 5:15 am
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Isn’t she stunning? The way her voice cracks in between words so hard to speak. The way her eyes shed tears, as if it was the end of the world for her. The way she victimizes herself, seeking attention she rejects.
Isn’t she stunning? The way she’s not herself? She’s stunning. But…
That’s only fleeting though.
» Posted By Circinus On 11.23.2011 @ 8:09 pm