diren's philtatos

Prompt: What is your favourite word? Write a scene around that word. Sophia had been building a rocket in her backyard for more than three months now. And tonight would be the night where she finally finished her masterpiece - she had checked and double-checked if all the safety measures were in place and if she had taken enough of her favourite chocolate with her. Just looking at her work made her giggle like a maniac so she lay down on the grass to calm down again. Above her head the stars shone in all their beauty. Sophia reached her hands out into the night, longing for the stars but never getting there. »Tonight,« a voice inside of her whispered. »Tonight, tonight.« Before getting inside her rocket, Sophia stood up and had one last look around. The old treehouse her father had built when she had been a child, the never-ending fields in the back, their neighbour's car in which she had puked when she had been nine years old. Sophia had always thought this would be harder, bu

What is Black Out Poetry? ::: Novel I used for these ... The Book of Tomorrow by Cecelia Ahern. #1 Can't Deny They say this story wasn't happening. I struggle to believe those people - their minds are in dead ends. #2 The Lies We Tell Ourselves Leaving everyone, I haven't told whatever could be said. Sometimes people close their minds, they say: »I tried furiously to bring him back.« Endless stories. #3 self-destruction I liked getting lost to be perfectly honest. I loved him all by myself. I wasn't sure if I said it - I meant it. #4 Human Tragedy People live waiting and waiting and I know now we took an awful lot of tomorrow. #5 What Happens Any way, the ones that I like go eventually as if nothing had ever happened. I hope we'll find the way to yesterday again. #6 Before I used to think I'd rather be dead than spend the day with you. #7 Carry On On the other side of the world, somebody's leaving everything and carrying on. #8 W

I built a castle for you, my dear - I spent my years on it, day after day after day. I listened to songs written by some lonely souls far across the ocean and thought of you. I wrote you a poem, and another poem, and another poem, and then tried prose but I learned quickly that all the words in the world weren't enough. I drew your face on a serviette, on the back of my hand, on a piece of paper, on the pages of my favorite book, on walls and on the whole world. I spent a thought on you and became addicted. I let your name roll over my tongue, again and again and again. This is my castle for you. I built it all by myself and I will go down with this castle - let the earth beneath choke it all. I built you a castle, my dear - but does it even matter if I never had the courage to show it to you? I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO I DON'T EVEN HAVE TIME TO THINK. BUT AT LEAST I ALSO DON'T HAVE TIME TO MISS YOU ANYMORE.

Fear is asking yourself What if nothing will ever be as good?

There's a fly in my head and it just won't shut up. It keeps flying and buzzing and drawing its circles. Fuck you, stupid fly. And fuck him, really - for being the only reason why I'm still wide awake in the first place.

I let ordinary life part me from someone special and I pay the price every morning after having dreamed he's still here, he's still with me only to realize that he is not. I let him be taken away by  The-Way-Things-Just-Go and now things just go the way I never wanted them to.