Things stolen are never found. Not even found to the person who stole it. No one gets anywhere, things get lost and forgotten. Never found because it was stolen from the innocent hands.
To be fair, she is no thief. Liar? Yes. Vengeful? Yes. Not good to be near when you have valuables? Definitely. But she is no thief. This, though. This is new. This is one thing she can’t keep her hands to herself over. It’s destroying her reservations about simply taking.
Pia’s got her head cocked to the side because she knows that she’s going to get this girl across from her no matter what.
I feel as if my summer has been stolen away from me by technology and time. Both of which we rely on. I blink for a sheer second, and the summer is over.
Two purses had been stolen from the back room of our store, and of course, we were furious. It turned out that the thief hadn’t wandered very far; in fact, he was caught in an alleyway, dumping things out of the purses themselves and rummaging through them for goodies. By the time the cops brought back all the clerks’ belongings, they couldn’t have been more apologetic.
“Guy’s an outright kleptomaniac,” one officer explained to the store manager, sighing and shaking her head. “Been in jail a couple of times, but he doesn’t learn.”
things are stolen all of the time, but not always in the way we expect. People can steal your possessions, your ideas, your identity — but all of this we have provisions for. Insurance. Protection. Guards. But what about stolen moments, stolen possibilities?
One day what was stolen from me will be something none will ever remember for centuries. It makes a lot of sense to one person- but for the rest of the world it becomes completely irrelevant.
I don’t know if I have ever had anything stolen from me. Come to think of it, one of my pipes has been MIA for a while and I am suspicious of that. But at any rate, I do feel like I had parts of my youth stolen. People have stolen small bits of my soul away from me.
I knew it would never be mine, even long after it had come into my possession. Even though it would belong to me for the rest of our existences, it would never truly be mine. And I knew that. Yet, without filling my head with any disillusionments or false interpretations of reality, I somehow had the perfect sense of belonging when it was with me.
I knew it would never truly belong to me, even long after it was in my possession. Even if I would have it for the rest of both of our existences, it was still not mine. And I knew that. Yet, while I never entertained myself with any disillusionment or alteration of the painful reality, I somehow felt a sense of belonging, now that I had it.
And here I stand, heart beating a mile an hour, as I gaze up into his face. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he stares back down at me, red splashed across his cheeks, pressed so close I can feel every anxious heave of his chest against my own. And in this moment everything slides perfectly into place and I feel my heart catch, a smile spreading wide across my face as he slowly leans in, lips softly pressing against mine.
“You’ve stolen my heart” was the sole speechless thought on the mans mind as he fell shakily to his knees, woozy with euphoric shock, hands clutching his sodden red shirt with all the ardor of a bridegroom. You actually stole it! How–?
But the creature before him– and what better word was there for you than creature, beloved created thing, breath of God wrapped in bones– was silent. Blood was murmuring in rivers down its velvet arms, black as night, black as the centers of his eyes. Black as love. God, what–
He watched and breathed as the being moved, blinked, lazily shifted its cradled arms and the man gasped as raw flesh met new starlight. There’s something that should be inside of me touching something that should be outside of everything, his mind flickered like confetti under a stage light. God. If he ever got it back he knew he’d never be the same, he’d have the fingerprints of angels under his ribs, butterfly-dust of galaxies in his veins, a rush of wingbeats in his ears–
You stole it, he laughed again, then sobbed. Did not. I gave it to you. Everything. How could I not?
The beloved thief sighed in its sanguine rapture. The man felt every atom of it.
“I can’t believe you took my cat!” the man ground at his neighbor.
“If you didn’t want me to steal your cat, you should learn to keep him on your fucking yard!” the other yelled back, holding the cat.
“Give him back. Now.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
I could hear the nothingness surrounding me. It was cold, dark, damp.. My wrists and ankles were oddly heavy, although that could have something to do with the chains around them. I haven’t seen the sun in… Wait, how long have I been down here? I cringed at the sound of scraping against the metal floor. It was almost impossible to look into the light creeping from the now open doorway.
“Time for your medication, Lucy.” It was the same raspy voice I’ve heard since… Since when? When did I get here? And where exactly is ‘here’? My train of thought was lost when I realized someone was standing in front of me. “There you are, Lucy. Take your pills. You’ll be okay soon.”
What’s he talking about? I’d be okay if I got out of here! I popped the pills in my mouth and gulped the cup of water down.
this man stole a thing at a store and then the people called the cops and then he went crazy and was holding poeple hostage witha gun and everyhting and it was a super bad situationa nd he killed everyone and then himself and went to hell and got tortured and it was really painfula nd hurt a lot.
by im typing to fast to spell correctly on 08.09.2015
The book was stolen from the right place at the right time. The book she had gotten changed her life forever. This may have been the most important crime of her life.
Her hands clench together tightly. She doesn’t need to be brave, she needs to be careful. Her necklace has already been stolen, and there is another little goblin dancing in tye corner of her eye. Next thing she knows, she’ll be missing her rings, or her fingers. She needs to dissappear.
and in a single breath it was gone, no she’d seen her mothers face before, in almost the same situation, it’s quite fatal.
loves a bitch she thought, running a hand through her hair, now knowing the look shared between mother and child.
His hands grasp at the side of the house, his nails trying to dig into brick with no avail. The girls nails dig into his side, and his hands clench up, loosing any grip he once had.
It all felt wrong. I felt isolated, but there was people all around. It was my identity in a way, that felt wrong, like I’d stolen it. Like it wasn’t mine, Like I wasn’t me.
“Hey, how are you?” They’d say, and each time I’d reply:
all I can think about are
stolen moments,
the dark backseat of your car
when you first reached for my
hand,
and I didn’t breathe
the whole way home
for fear you’d hear
my blood singing your name
as it coursed through my veins
my heart was stolen with the touch of his lips. I knew I would never be the same. He had changed me in some fundamental way that I had not thought possible], that I had not thought possible to happen to me.
Sometimes I feel like bits and pieces of myself have been stolen. The journey called life is awesome, yet at moments I know I have lost something. I wonder if its something that I’m going to need later, or if it was just time to let it go. Maybe “stolen” wasn’t what really happened. Possibly I past the test, and was ready to keep moving forward, so whatever I needed for that particular situation left me. I guess I can only hope that something won’t arise where I’ll need it again. Life is funny like that. Whether it’s something as dramatic as a spouse, a friend or a pet, when something is taken from you (or stolen), you always feel like a part of you is gone. I wonder if that’s really true. When a spouse dies (and I’m speaking from experience), it’s difficult to find yourself. So much of me was bound up in him; tangled, tied, glued, attached…a hundred other words to describe. He was mixed in me and I in him. When his body is taken, stolen or just gone, I struggled with who I was without him. Over time, that stolen part was filled with other wonderful things. Eventually that empty spot, whole, blank space, was filled. The stolen colors were slowly filled in again. Not the same; different. Do I dare say better? Maybe I’m not ready to admit that yet…but its good. Truthfully I don’t believe God stole him from me, but for some reason, He needed him more than this world needed him. For something to be stolen, you have to own it. I didn’t own my husband. I didn’t purchase him like something you see in a store. We just strangely and gradually became a part of each other. Friendship grew into like and like grew into love. Eventually. Our home was broke into five years after we were married. Items, things, stuff, was stolen. At the time it seemed so important; yet, as time went on, you look back and can’t even remember the details of what was taken. You only remember that it was a moment in time when you had things that you thought were important, yet after they were “stolen” and a little time had passed, you learned to adjust without them. You replaced certain items that could be replaced, and hoped that one day you’d find another set of china like the set that was stolen; and eventually 30 years later, you find it. Happiness fills you like a little girl getting an American Girl Doll on her 7th birthday. The word “stolen” sounds harsh and painful, and it is, but it can also be a growing experience. One thing I would never want to happen is have a child stolen from me. I guess that’s really another word: “kidnapped”… that’s a story for another writer.
“Why did you do that to me?” William asked softly not fully understanding what was going on.
Edward only sighed and William could feel his irritation grow, “Answer the fucking question!”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Yes!”
“I did it for your own good.”
William’s fists clenched and he could feel angry tears forming in his eyes, “You can’t just do that! I’m a fucking person you don’t need to protect me from everything. My life was shit before I met you and I’ve been through so much without you! Get off your Alphan high horse and start treating me like a person!”
“Princess-”
“Don’t Princess me! I don’t need you dictatcting my life! You are actively stealing away expereicnes from me because you think that I won’t be able to handle them! Do you have any idea how sexist and Omegaphobic that is? You’re invalidating my life because you think that I don’t have the mental chops to get back on my feet. Fuck you.” He hissed and left the room in a fury.
The girl looks back over her shoulder. No one is following her, but that means nothing at all. Her locket is missing, and with it her memories of the man that left her years ago. With his loss came the depression that took over two years of her life and wasted them away.
This overwhelming sense of loss comes from all of the places we never made it to. It is the deep black hole where all of our exquisite moments should be. It might not feel so tragic if they were not already there to be had, but we had both imagined them, lived them over and over in our messed up heads, biding time until they were played out in the flesh. Now they’re gone. It’s like they’ve been stolen from me.
Sometimes I think my future was stolen from me and then I remember it was me who squandered it away. There are remnants of the life I might have had all around me, taunting me, reminding me of all the mistakes that I made, bad choices, drinks, procrastination that got me to this place.
I looked down at the wooden floor boards beneath my feet, tears escaping my eyes and dripping down my pale cheeks. I couldn’t believe it. My whole entire life was stolen from me right in front of my eyes. My parents were dead, and now the only person in the world that truly loved me was dead too.
I had no patience left and she just just kept making me wait, staring at her lips, she kept taking my patience, it was stolen by the mystery in her eyes.
The bank manager couldn’t believe what he had saw when he came out of his office after he heard loud commotion. There were two men with masks on, and all his workers were laying on the ground, face down. They had large bags in hand with what was probably stolen money from the banks vaults.
“no!” she screamed. “no no please!” she scrambled about, looking desperately around. But it was gone, stolen in the night. It felt as though there was a hole in her chest.
The young orphan left the orphanage when he was about three even then he knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to live a better life but he couldn’t with no money he stole to things to stop him self from dying or starving sometimes he wished he never left the orphanage and blames that he never knew what he was doing. The police were after and he was worn down his feet were bleeding and his life was a misery, you might all be thinking that he could just turn himself in but it was on the old days that if he did he would be hung.
The young orphan left the orphanage when he was about three even then he knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to live a better life but he couldn’t with no money he stole to things to stop him self from dying or starving sometimes he wished he never left the orphanage and blames that he never knew what he was doing.
Things stolen are never found. Not even found to the person who stole it. No one gets anywhere, things get lost and forgotten. Never found because it was stolen from the innocent hands.
To be fair, she is no thief. Liar? Yes. Vengeful? Yes. Not good to be near when you have valuables? Definitely. But she is no thief. This, though. This is new. This is one thing she can’t keep her hands to herself over. It’s destroying her reservations about simply taking.
Pia’s got her head cocked to the side because she knows that she’s going to get this girl across from her no matter what.
I feel as if my summer has been stolen away from me by technology and time. Both of which we rely on. I blink for a sheer second, and the summer is over.
Two purses had been stolen from the back room of our store, and of course, we were furious. It turned out that the thief hadn’t wandered very far; in fact, he was caught in an alleyway, dumping things out of the purses themselves and rummaging through them for goodies. By the time the cops brought back all the clerks’ belongings, they couldn’t have been more apologetic.
“Guy’s an outright kleptomaniac,” one officer explained to the store manager, sighing and shaking her head. “Been in jail a couple of times, but he doesn’t learn.”
things are stolen all of the time, but not always in the way we expect. People can steal your possessions, your ideas, your identity — but all of this we have provisions for. Insurance. Protection. Guards. But what about stolen moments, stolen possibilities?
One day what was stolen from me will be something none will ever remember for centuries. It makes a lot of sense to one person- but for the rest of the world it becomes completely irrelevant.
I don’t know if I have ever had anything stolen from me. Come to think of it, one of my pipes has been MIA for a while and I am suspicious of that. But at any rate, I do feel like I had parts of my youth stolen. People have stolen small bits of my soul away from me.
I knew it would never be mine, even long after it had come into my possession. Even though it would belong to me for the rest of our existences, it would never truly be mine. And I knew that. Yet, without filling my head with any disillusionments or false interpretations of reality, I somehow had the perfect sense of belonging when it was with me.
I knew it would never truly belong to me, even long after it was in my possession. Even if I would have it for the rest of both of our existences, it was still not mine. And I knew that. Yet, while I never entertained myself with any disillusionment or alteration of the painful reality, I somehow felt a sense of belonging, now that I had it.
And here I stand, heart beating a mile an hour, as I gaze up into his face. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he stares back down at me, red splashed across his cheeks, pressed so close I can feel every anxious heave of his chest against my own. And in this moment everything slides perfectly into place and I feel my heart catch, a smile spreading wide across my face as he slowly leans in, lips softly pressing against mine.
“You’ve stolen my heart” was the sole speechless thought on the mans mind as he fell shakily to his knees, woozy with euphoric shock, hands clutching his sodden red shirt with all the ardor of a bridegroom. You actually stole it! How–?
But the creature before him– and what better word was there for you than creature, beloved created thing, breath of God wrapped in bones– was silent. Blood was murmuring in rivers down its velvet arms, black as night, black as the centers of his eyes. Black as love. God, what–
He watched and breathed as the being moved, blinked, lazily shifted its cradled arms and the man gasped as raw flesh met new starlight. There’s something that should be inside of me touching something that should be outside of everything, his mind flickered like confetti under a stage light. God. If he ever got it back he knew he’d never be the same, he’d have the fingerprints of angels under his ribs, butterfly-dust of galaxies in his veins, a rush of wingbeats in his ears–
You stole it, he laughed again, then sobbed. Did not. I gave it to you. Everything. How could I not?
The beloved thief sighed in its sanguine rapture. The man felt every atom of it.
He had stolen her heart from the moment they met. Even before with his words, and the time they spent knowing each other from afar.
“I can’t believe you took my cat!” the man ground at his neighbor.
“If you didn’t want me to steal your cat, you should learn to keep him on your fucking yard!” the other yelled back, holding the cat.
“Give him back. Now.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
“Hey! Stop!”
Run, quick!
“Mister!”
It’s not your fault that they left you, and it’s certainly not your fault that they made you snap.
Right?
I could hear the nothingness surrounding me. It was cold, dark, damp.. My wrists and ankles were oddly heavy, although that could have something to do with the chains around them. I haven’t seen the sun in… Wait, how long have I been down here? I cringed at the sound of scraping against the metal floor. It was almost impossible to look into the light creeping from the now open doorway.
“Time for your medication, Lucy.” It was the same raspy voice I’ve heard since… Since when? When did I get here? And where exactly is ‘here’? My train of thought was lost when I realized someone was standing in front of me. “There you are, Lucy. Take your pills. You’ll be okay soon.”
What’s he talking about? I’d be okay if I got out of here! I popped the pills in my mouth and gulped the cup of water down.
this man stole a thing at a store and then the people called the cops and then he went crazy and was holding poeple hostage witha gun and everyhting and it was a super bad situationa nd he killed everyone and then himself and went to hell and got tortured and it was really painfula nd hurt a lot.
The book was stolen from the right place at the right time. The book she had gotten changed her life forever. This may have been the most important crime of her life.
Her hands clench together tightly. She doesn’t need to be brave, she needs to be careful. Her necklace has already been stolen, and there is another little goblin dancing in tye corner of her eye. Next thing she knows, she’ll be missing her rings, or her fingers. She needs to dissappear.
and in a single breath it was gone, no she’d seen her mothers face before, in almost the same situation, it’s quite fatal.
loves a bitch she thought, running a hand through her hair, now knowing the look shared between mother and child.
His hands grasp at the side of the house, his nails trying to dig into brick with no avail. The girls nails dig into his side, and his hands clench up, loosing any grip he once had.
It all felt wrong. I felt isolated, but there was people all around. It was my identity in a way, that felt wrong, like I’d stolen it. Like it wasn’t mine, Like I wasn’t me.
“Hey, how are you?” They’d say, and each time I’d reply:
“Oh, I’m fine, how are you.”
all I can think about are
stolen moments,
the dark backseat of your car
when you first reached for my
hand,
and I didn’t breathe
the whole way home
for fear you’d hear
my blood singing your name
as it coursed through my veins
then I remember that
you’re the thief
my heart was stolen with the touch of his lips. I knew I would never be the same. He had changed me in some fundamental way that I had not thought possible], that I had not thought possible to happen to me.
This was it. Everything rested on this one moment. I was ready, and the lock was free. Now I just had to take it. Take it…
“Jack!” I heard my name. “Just take it already!”
I nodded. I grabbed the priceless item and ran.
(already did this before i signed up, just reposting.)
Sometimes I feel like bits and pieces of myself have been stolen. The journey called life is awesome, yet at moments I know I have lost something. I wonder if its something that I’m going to need later, or if it was just time to let it go. Maybe “stolen” wasn’t what really happened. Possibly I past the test, and was ready to keep moving forward, so whatever I needed for that particular situation left me. I guess I can only hope that something won’t arise where I’ll need it again. Life is funny like that. Whether it’s something as dramatic as a spouse, a friend or a pet, when something is taken from you (or stolen), you always feel like a part of you is gone. I wonder if that’s really true. When a spouse dies (and I’m speaking from experience), it’s difficult to find yourself. So much of me was bound up in him; tangled, tied, glued, attached…a hundred other words to describe. He was mixed in me and I in him. When his body is taken, stolen or just gone, I struggled with who I was without him. Over time, that stolen part was filled with other wonderful things. Eventually that empty spot, whole, blank space, was filled. The stolen colors were slowly filled in again. Not the same; different. Do I dare say better? Maybe I’m not ready to admit that yet…but its good. Truthfully I don’t believe God stole him from me, but for some reason, He needed him more than this world needed him. For something to be stolen, you have to own it. I didn’t own my husband. I didn’t purchase him like something you see in a store. We just strangely and gradually became a part of each other. Friendship grew into like and like grew into love. Eventually. Our home was broke into five years after we were married. Items, things, stuff, was stolen. At the time it seemed so important; yet, as time went on, you look back and can’t even remember the details of what was taken. You only remember that it was a moment in time when you had things that you thought were important, yet after they were “stolen” and a little time had passed, you learned to adjust without them. You replaced certain items that could be replaced, and hoped that one day you’d find another set of china like the set that was stolen; and eventually 30 years later, you find it. Happiness fills you like a little girl getting an American Girl Doll on her 7th birthday. The word “stolen” sounds harsh and painful, and it is, but it can also be a growing experience. One thing I would never want to happen is have a child stolen from me. I guess that’s really another word: “kidnapped”… that’s a story for another writer.
The dog had stolen the cats fish. The cat being the snob that he was, wasn’t impressed that a dumb dog could do that.
This was it. Everything rested on this one moment. I was ready, and the lock was free. Now I just had to take it. Take it…
“Jack!” I heard my name. “Just take it already!”
I nodded. I grabbed the priceless item and ran.
“Why did you do that to me?” William asked softly not fully understanding what was going on.
Edward only sighed and William could feel his irritation grow, “Answer the fucking question!”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Yes!”
“I did it for your own good.”
William’s fists clenched and he could feel angry tears forming in his eyes, “You can’t just do that! I’m a fucking person you don’t need to protect me from everything. My life was shit before I met you and I’ve been through so much without you! Get off your Alphan high horse and start treating me like a person!”
“Princess-”
“Don’t Princess me! I don’t need you dictatcting my life! You are actively stealing away expereicnes from me because you think that I won’t be able to handle them! Do you have any idea how sexist and Omegaphobic that is? You’re invalidating my life because you think that I don’t have the mental chops to get back on my feet. Fuck you.” He hissed and left the room in a fury.
The girl looks back over her shoulder. No one is following her, but that means nothing at all. Her locket is missing, and with it her memories of the man that left her years ago. With his loss came the depression that took over two years of her life and wasted them away.
woops i already did this one before i signed up lol
This overwhelming sense of loss comes from all of the places we never made it to. It is the deep black hole where all of our exquisite moments should be. It might not feel so tragic if they were not already there to be had, but we had both imagined them, lived them over and over in our messed up heads, biding time until they were played out in the flesh. Now they’re gone. It’s like they’ve been stolen from me.
Sometimes I think my future was stolen from me and then I remember it was me who squandered it away. There are remnants of the life I might have had all around me, taunting me, reminding me of all the mistakes that I made, bad choices, drinks, procrastination that got me to this place.
I looked down at the wooden floor boards beneath my feet, tears escaping my eyes and dripping down my pale cheeks. I couldn’t believe it. My whole entire life was stolen from me right in front of my eyes. My parents were dead, and now the only person in the world that truly loved me was dead too.
I had no patience left and she just just kept making me wait, staring at her lips, she kept taking my patience, it was stolen by the mystery in her eyes.
The bank manager couldn’t believe what he had saw when he came out of his office after he heard loud commotion. There were two men with masks on, and all his workers were laying on the ground, face down. They had large bags in hand with what was probably stolen money from the banks vaults.
“no!” she screamed. “no no please!” she scrambled about, looking desperately around. But it was gone, stolen in the night. It felt as though there was a hole in her chest.
Gone. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone. It was strange to see a place so empty, so quiet. It was as if every hint of life had been stolen.
Thief, Reclaim, Pursue.
this is unacceptable.
John 10:10
Repayment
Forgiveness
The young orphan left the orphanage when he was about three even then he knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to live a better life but he couldn’t with no money he stole to things to stop him self from dying or starving sometimes he wished he never left the orphanage and blames that he never knew what he was doing. The police were after and he was worn down his feet were bleeding and his life was a misery, you might all be thinking that he could just turn himself in but it was on the old days that if he did he would be hung.
The young orphan left the orphanage when he was about three even then he knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to live a better life but he couldn’t with no money he stole to things to stop him self from dying or starving sometimes he wished he never left the orphanage and blames that he never knew what he was doing.