369dreamergirl

eden is not broken. she might crack, but she never shatters and sometimes eden is weak, but in the end she does not break. eden can make the lamplights brighter than the stars, just by walking past them. eden is lonely, most days. eden can grow flowers that no one has ever seen before. scarlet, silver streaks on emerald green, violet spots vanishing into pale lavenders, hot pink pollen falling onto powder-blue petals. but eden does not grow roses. and eden leaves the curtains of her cream-colored house wide open, not wanting to miss the view the world has to offer her. but what she sees outside is not the world that eden k

how do i tell you that you hurt me, that every time you brush me off or mock me or put someone else before me you hurt me how do i tell you without saying it in so many words? it's painful because i would never; i do everything in my power to avoid it i say sorry first i always want to be there i do everything i can for you, everything you ask me to. and yet you act the way you do. it's like you're purposefully drifting away - like a feather on the surface of a pond, reaching for the other shore. love is kisses and the scent of your skin and time spent together, the feeling of your fingers entwined with mine, seeing you smile whe

and you were born to hear the language of angels and i was supposed to take you there but the angels have abandoned me, my lovely muses lined up upon the peach-colored clouds in their greek fashion, are attending now to someone else for their attention is often fleeting. and my ballroom finery, in colors of caribbean blue and burnished copper, now reduced to cobweb rags and cherry red blood under my fingernails and i seem to be smelling iron and, honestly, i wish i could say you were surrounded by a halo of endless light, but unfortunately, in reality, you are a pale lotus blossom in a wine-dark sea. and i am sorry you will n

Chapter One Grimmauld Place      Night had fallen at number 12, Grimauld Place, where an anxious silence echoed throughout the house. Old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered quietly all along the walls, casting a flickering, insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper. Also visible, but just barely, was the threadbare carpet that lined the long, gloomy hallways which branched off into unused rooms reeking of mildew. In them, age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls and cobwebby chandeliers glimmered distantly overhead.      Suddenly, the aged door in the main hallway creaked open to let in a motley assortment. The large group that

I've decided that I don't write anywhere near as much as I used to, and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing. So this year, I'll be following this: http://lindajm.hubpages.com/hub/writing-prompts-for-creative-writing-inspiration. That's right, 365 days of writing prompts. Going through them now and I'm of the opinion that I'm going to HATE myself by the end of the year. But we'll see! Maybe I can do this after all. And in case that link dies and disappears, here it is - January writing prompts 1. suitably warm 2. candy apple red 3. I didn't go there 4. why didn't it happen to me? 5. shreds of doubt 6. can't be 7. where will