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1Welcome to my world of writing, writing filled with Sweetness ,Happiness, Joy, Craziness, Angst, Passion, Tenderness, Anger, Sadness, Solitude. All this but above all LOVE!
I am going to post here mostly OneShot in a collection named “It’s called...”
Why this name?
You will get it after reading them.
Thanks everyone who has been
so kind to read me so far in this journey.
Index
Page 1 *See Below*
It’s called...Heartbreak
It’s called...Pulchritudinous
It’s called heartbreak
Love he swore to me; he whispered my name at the first light of sunrise; he felt my breath on his skin, and he danced with me, barefoot in a rainy night. He promised me the sun and the moon and it didn't matter to me: all I wanted was him, his love, my name on his lips, his breath against my skin. But his words were made of smoke, written in the wind; carved in the sand, waiting for a tide that would come to take them away, towards other distant shores. And the melody we had danced on died, leaving behind the aftermath of the hurricane named Declan Chesterfield.
Secret hurts. The unspoken truth pains. Yet it is so easy to lie. Lying is effortless, whether it be by words, by actions, or by body language. Indeed, the bigger the lie, the easier it is to pronounce it; just add a few letter, change the tone of voice. A single tale, a single word is enough to create havoc. However, when you remove the veil from a lie, it is not as sweet as a chocolate truffle. It’s taste like six words: Vanessa Larson, I love you not.
[My entry for CYCMD Contest first round]
It’s called...Pulchritudinous
(adj) having a great pysical beauty and appeal, breathtaking.
She was intrigue, mystery and charm.
As she passed, you couldn't help looking up to admire her, to watch her even on those high heels that she didn't need but that made her even more attractive.
And you were enchanted to watch her move forward, with her red mouth and black eyelashes, wondering what her true nature was under the wild hair.
She seemed detached, almost as she did not belong to this world but came from one of her own.
She gave the idea that, beyond what interested her, the rest was invisible to her eyes.
Nobody seemed to be up to her and everyone remained silent, continuing to admire her in the shadows, fearful of being discovered.
Because she was too much, she was too much for everyone.
Nobody felt enough.
Nobody was worthy.
And meanwhile the seasons passed, and in each of them she was.
She was winter when, with fascinating movements, everything freeze.
She was autumn when the first winds ruffled her locks, soaking up her perfume.
She was spring when a smile was born spontaneously on her face, bursting into laughter.
Finally she was summer, when with her feline eyes she burned you in a blink of an eye.
She was all this, cold and hot at the same time.
Graceful but imposing.
Charming, yet hold back.
Intrigued, then intimidated.
She was the dream that everyone wanted to live but that no one had the courage to realize.
She was a forbidden wish, perhaps too much. So forbidden as to appear impossible.
She was what everyone craved, yet she was not contested by anyone.
Because she was like that. Beautiful, damned, unaware.
Damn ignorant.
And she wondered why.
Why nobody noticed her.
Why nobody spoke to her.
Because she didn't know, she didn't notice.
Because she was anything but what others believed she was.
Meanwhile the seasons passed, and in each of them she lived.
She lived in the winter of her heart, cold since nobody had come to warm it.
She lived in the autumn, when the first winds brought melancholy sighs away from her.
She lived in the spring, when the heat began to melt the ice making her smile.
And she lived in the summer, when with eyes full of desire she looked around for someone to love.
Meanwhile time passed, but nothing changed.
Nobody who dared to meet up her gaze.
No one capable of speaking to her.
No one who could hear the desperate cry that roared inside her.
Nobody who saw her pain.
Everyone looked at her, but nobody really saw her for what she was.
A woman.
A woman like any other.
A woman who had no particular demands, who wanted nothing more than she deserved.
A woman, a victim of herself, of her charm, of her own unawareness.
Meanwhile the seasons passed, and so she ...
We see only the masks and we know
nothing of the soul of those around us.
Meanwhile time passes, as seasons and life.
And we don't live, and we don't see.
Reserved. Will come back tonight 😆
*Edited*
Congratulations 🤗
I'm so glad you decided to share your work here. For some reason, I never knew that you write 🤔 Not sure how I missed it but anywayss.. I'm glad I came across it now. I love the CYCMD entry like I told you already. I love It’s called...Pulchritudinous too - thats a new word I learnt today. It was so well written ❤️ I'm looking forward to reading more from you.
Zoah x
Very beautifully written!
The description is so apt! I loved both!❤️
Keep writing, will love to read more!
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