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About Deviant Artist <2 Abstract LoveFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 10 Years
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Literature
The Almost-Remembered Touch...
     It's new for Sally, learning how to behave around Anna. She's never had a girlfriend so desperately in need of touch, affection, and grounding before, never had a girlfriend with so many quirks and needs and eccentricities. She's never wanted to fill all the gaps in a person the way she does Anna. It's like Anna is a sieve, and Sally wants to make her into a bowl. Or maybe it's Anna who wants to be the bowl, and Sally just wants to give her everything she wants, so she'll try impossibly hard, try with her ten fingers to stem the irreversible flow of gravity and water and self-loathing pouring out of the myriad holes in that sieve.
     When Sally kisses Anna, she tries to be symmetrical. She's learned, though Anna has never taught her, what needs to be done. Kiss one eyelid, kiss the other. Regulate pressure, be exact. She knows she's not always good at it, but she does her best regardless; she's developed strategies for the
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Literature
Shameless
    They ran halfway across the bridge, hands clasped, hair flying wildly around them in the night wind, cheeks flushed from cold, excitement, and wine. Breathless, they laughed at each others' disheveled appearances, then at themselves. They kissed and held each other as close as they could get; the stars looked down at them and were jealous.
     She pried herself from their embrace to lean over the railing, breath coming out in puffs of smoke. There was no river to be seen in the darkness, but when the flower in her hair slipped from behind her ear the current carried it away. She spared it a moment's regret, but there was a warm hand on her waist, scorching its anticipation through the fabric of her coat, and she was hard pressed to ignore its impatience.
     A flash of blinding light in her face and she stumbles, gloveless hands reaching out to anchor her to the banister. The hand on her waist keeps her steady,
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Literature
Fairytales Come True
   I want to put on a ballgown and go to the park with you. I want to eat a picnic in the shade of the biggest tree we can find and leave my painted toes out in the sunlight to keep them warm. I want to stumble over cobblestones in high heels while you keep my balance, to lie in the grass and weave its blades through my fingers and braid its flowers into your hair.
     I want to get all dressed up just to spend a day with you, in nature, being alive. I want to take a photograph of you dressed in your evening finest and smelling the roses, you at your finest drinking wine from a paper cup. We will surprise and confuse everyone around us, we will make them smile and make them jealous, and make them want to be like us.
     I want to pick a quiet Sunday afternoon and waltz with you at twilight behind an information booth. I'm not a very good dancer, but I promise I'll do my best. I don't care if anyone is watching, we will
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Literature
Pride, that deadly sin
     I have many faces and many personas. I am a cut stone whose every facet shines like emerald and whose edges cut like diamond. I am every  color of the rainbow, and my roots in the soil are so deep and far-reaching that they shake hands with every other root under earth. I am as powerful and persistent as water — though my flow may be diverted it will always wear down the barriers that keep it from achieving its goals. I always end where I wanted to go.
     I am beautiful. This I know not because others have told it to me, but because I can feel it. I feel the balance of my feet against the dirt and the ease with which I am able to carry my own weight, and what else could this be than beauty? I am only as ugly as I allow myself to be, only as broken as I feel myself to have become. Only I can ruin myself; I have granted others no such privilege. I can feel, from the stability of my mind at rest and the solid weight o
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Literature
Love Story
Ours will be a romance all around the world: the story of a girl who cannot stay in one place, and a boy who longs to get away. I will teach him how to travel, how to build a home that goes places. He will teach me how to dream, how to be awed and see the world around me with wondering eyes. We will be a whirlwind, a mountain, a storm. He will be sea-level, and I will be the stars.
I will sweep him along into my world and he will wrap me up in his. We will move and shake and change the course of history all around us. I will be a diplomat, and he will be an artist. I will be a doctor, and he will write novels or movies or plays. I will make the money so he can make the warmth. I will build his house if he will fill my home.
We will love over mountains and over oceans, we will love under the same sun and under the same moon, looking up to different corners of the sky. We will learn the constellations and never be lost, follow mosses on trees and winds blowing through forests. We will be
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Literature
Healing Time
cells grow around wounds. Gaping wounds - the kind that stop hurting because the pain is so intense, the kind that don't need to bleed to terrify and shock. The kind that look at first like they will never close, like no life could grow into that empty space to make it whole again. Time heals all wounds.
with the passage of hours the pain numbs, the mind settles like sediment at the bottom of a swiftly moving river- the motion continues while the bottom remains. Sedentary and still. With the dawning of days the emptiness continues to make its presence known - the gap, the black hole vortex devouring all the light it can. With weeks and months a scab forms. The wound you forgot was there, biding its time, still troublesome when picked at - fighting the urge to tear it off. Masochism, pain, perfection. With years the empty seat fills, the skin grows healthy. The name falls off lips and tongues. There is a moment of hesitation when it is brought up not because of the pain of memor
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Literature
And, Somewhere
The hardest part is getting out of the bubble of sadness and stepping back into the real world – into a world that's still turning and full of people still living oblivious. I don't know how I should act. To the rest of the world this never happened. To the rest of the world she didn't exist, because they didn't know her. They were never touched by her.
But here I am, now, and I feel so heavy. It's not the weight of the sheets pressing down on me or the heaviness of the air that I feel, though. It's the heaviness of the empty feeling inside me: the part of me that doesn't know how to feel or how to cope. I feel her still in the raw sting of my eyelids, rubbed red from too many tissues and scraps of toilet paper.
I want to be in constant motion. I want to go out and do something and be somewhere and be with someone. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be inactive. I don't want to think, because then I'll open a whole world of what-ifs and wonder if I could have done this bett
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Literature
T'hy'la
     The needs of the many over the needs of the few; this life of Me, I give for You. Above all I was your friend - have been and always shall I be - and friendship is Human(what I have always been afraid to be). We have been many places and seen many things. I have left, you have left me, but we've always forgiven each others' sins. I am your comrade, your conscience's darker half, you know I'd give you anything if you'd only learn to ask. For you it's always take-take-take, though you try so hard to give. For me it's always been stagnate. Don't let others in. And though I came so close to giving it all away, across space and stars you called to me, I felt something missing again that day. I have read many minds and kissed with many hands and had many words for very few. Across glass I cannot feel your warmth, but I feel something pass from Me, to You.
     For you it's always take-take-take, never noticing you
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Literature
Ivy
Ivy
Ivy climbing walls,
Ivy kissing bricks,
Ivy growing in all the wrong places.
. . .
Ivy climbing ladders,
Ivy kissing boys,
Ivy growing in all the right places.
. . .
Ivy: eerie dark in the night.
Ivy: photographic flora envy.
Ivy: stretching and twisting like snakes to the sky.
. . .
Ivy: eerie dark in the hallways.
Ivy: photographic teenage envy.
Ivy: stretching and twisting like the metamorphosis of a molted skin.
. . .
Ivy.
. . .
Ivy.
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Literature
Got Purpose?
When you left, you took the life out of this house. You took all the plates your mother gave us at our wedding, the flashlight with a hand-crank that was so useful during power outages, and the books on psychology that weighted down our shelves.
After you left, I started eating off napkins at diner, and paper plates I found in the back of the cabinet; left overs from some party, I guess. The power went out, and the batteries in my flashlight were empty. You took all the candles, too. The holes between books now look like the picture of you that once hung above the piano: the one of you as a kid, before you got your braces. The little black spots between your teeth looked just as lonely.
I stepped in the shower this morning, and there by my curled, water-wrinkled toes was a long black hair. It was already halfway down the drain, rippling back and forth with the water current. It was stuck underneath the bathmat. I left it there, and watched it squirm. I scrunched my toes, working the li
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Literature
EDITED Defending Hope
Defending Hope
       Ever since she was born, Hope had been frail. She was a premature delivery, thirty two weeks. An ugly little thing in my eyes: squishy, pink, and bald, but Mama and Papa smiled down at her like she was the prettiest thing they had ever seen. They didn’t even seem to mind her screaming.
       Later on, Mama told me that when /I/ was born, I had cried a lot louder. She said Hope had been quieter than most babies. I asked her why, and she said it was because Hope had been born with a terrible pneumonia. I didn’t bother to ask what a pneumonia was, because Hope always seemed to have something I didn’t.
       On the weekends, Papa would go out with Hope, and a few hours later, she’d come back with an ice cream. When I asked her where Papa took her ever week and why she got an ice cream when I didn’t, she would say that Papa told her not to
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Literature
Carrie Flynn 2
Carrie Flynn lives for her books. She reads them all day and pores over them all night and dreams about them when she sleeps. She reads so much it sometimes gets to the point where she forgets what her name is, or where she lives. She begins to call herself by the names of people she’s read, and her own life is so uneventful it seems the things she’s read must have been real.
Carrie Flynn prefers reading books over real life. In books she can be whoever she wants to be: a sexy detective, a rampaging murderer, an award-winning novelist, or even some fantastical creature. In real life, all she can be is Carrie Flynn, the girl who reads too much. Having as many lives as books she can get ahold of is so much easier.
Carrie Flynn had never met someone who read as much as she did. She had never met anyone who woke up and forgot their name so wholly that they adopted a new alias for the day. She had never met anyone who gave up the outside world for the printed one with such
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Literature
Carrie Flynn 1
But I know it’s too late/ I should have given you a reason to stay.
~DCFC ‘A Lack of Color’
Carrie Flynn left because it was no longer efficient or profitable for her to stay. When she was gone, villagers spoke ill of her, children cried over her, and forsworn lovers cursed her. They said she was cold-hearted, and that she had never really cared about them at all. Slanderous rumors spread like fire. ‘Did you know she had a bastard with another man?’, ‘I heard she was running from the authorities.’, ‘Jim says he was gonna fire her anyway. Never did like that one too much myself.’ Speculations on her every action were so common-place, it’s surprising they weren’t printed in the paper. Someone’s neighbor heard her speaking French once. Was she a foreigner? An illegal?
Carrie Flynn had left many towns before Bridgewater Falls, and she planned on leaving many more afterwards. She stayed and spread her charm until she was lov
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Literature
We'll hold each other soon
Mothers hold their children
Safe and warm in the night
While fires burning brightly
From support and warmth and love.
Children live their dreams
Running wild and carefree
With silent horrors all around them
Things they need not see.
Children age to grown-ups
And daughters become mothers
Who hold their children
Screaming horrors all around them.
Fires burning brightly
With support and warmth and fear
That devour engulf consume
Everything mothers and children hold dear.
Fear not see not
Hear not so
Running from the children
Things they needn't know.
Yes,
We'll hold each other soon.
Love,
And we'll hold each other soon.
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Literature
Prompts
Prompt: I'm always the last to know...
Prompt: Why?
Prompt: The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Prompt: Why'd I have to figure it out on my own?
Prompt: A guy/girl like that.
Prompt: London, England.
Prompt: Waterbottle.
Prompt: You always leave me...
Prompt: Do you love me?
Prompt: In the end...
Prompt: Winner.
Prompt: Loser.
Prompt: Where were you?
Prompt: I'm sorry.
Prompt: So ungrateful.
Prompt: I feel so foolish.
Prompt: We wasted so much time.
Prompt: Too far gone.
Prompt: Music.
Prompt: Dancing.
Prompt: Handwriting.
Prompt: We're so far apart...
Prompt: Is this a dream?
Prompt: White vs. Black.
Prompt: Fire vs. Ice.
Prompt: Just give me some time...
Prompt: Maybe tomorrow...
Prompt: You still awake?
Prompt: Please, don't take this from me.
Prompt: Last time.
Prompt: Forever and a day...
Prompt: High.
Prompt: You're never alone.
Prompt: Be careful what you wish for...
Prompt: Just for tonight...
Prompt: Are you afraid?
Prompt: Don't worry...
Prompt: Like I promised.
Prompt:
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Literature
Back Here Alive Again
Time,
You know it’s always gonna pass us by,
And days are always gonna fade to nights,
But we’ll make a promise here tonight,
That if the world falls down,
We’ll still be standing for each other.
Back here alive again,
Sing it,
We’re back here and alive again
And we’re,
Taking matters into our own hands,
We’re,
Back here and strong again.
And sing it,
We’re back here alive again.
We’re back here and alive again.
Taking matters into our own hands,
We’re,
Back here and strong again.
We,
Made an oath on this night,
That we’d always be by each other’s side.
We made an oath this night,
That if the world fell down,
We’d still be standing for each other.
And we’re
Back here alive again,
Sing it,
We’re back here and alive again
And we’re,
Taking matters into our own hands,
We’re,
Back here and strong again.
And sing it,
We’re back here alive again.
We’re,
Back here and alive again.
Taking matters into our
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If Flowers Could Talk by sqthreer If Flowers Could Talk :iconsqthreer:sqthreer 1,368 510 .MISSING YOU. by evol1314 .MISSING YOU. :iconevol1314:evol1314 87,663 9,449

Activity


deviantID

MyMidnightLove
<2 Abstract Love
Artist
United States
Current Residence: My own mind...
Operating System: Windows XP
MP3 player of choice: iPod Nano gen. 1
Interests
I've started up a writing tumblr. I don't particularly know why, but I've grown to like it as a medium, and who knows, maybe it will get me a tiny bit more feedback. That said, I will continue to post sporadically to dA, and I will be posting some of the same things that are here to there. So don't be alarmed if you see the same things twice.

THE ALL-IMPORTANT URL!!!
This shiny new writing-tumblr of mine can be found by going up to your address bar and typing in the following (or copy/pasting it, I suppose): gorillawords.tumblr.com

There you have it, folks.

P.S. Do any of you have tumblrs you'd like me to take a look at?
  • Listening to: Straylight Run
  • Drinking: milk

Comments


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:iconscarlet01:
Scarlet01 Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2010
Thanks for the collect!
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:iconjetadorechickie:
JetadoreChickie Featured By Owner Nov 5, 2009
hey, i used one of your prompts, and tagged (right word?) you in the comments. if you want to read: [link]
thanks!
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:iconpervyllama:
PervyLlama Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2009
HALLO. :iconimhappyplz:
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:iconmymidnightlove:
MyMidnightLove Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2009
HAI!
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:iconb1gfan:
b1gfan Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2009  Student Writer
Thank you very much for the generous :+fav: on "Un.an.tic.i.pat.ed" my friend. That is just super sweetness right there :highfive: and I really appreciate it.

:iconvictorydanceplz:
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:iconretardedcookie:
RetardedCOOKIE Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2008
thanks so much for the fav and compliment! >.< cheers and have a happy new year!
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:iconanaisabel19886:
anaisabel19886 Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2008
Thanks for the :+fav:!
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:iconpfister:
pfister Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2008  Professional Photographer
Thank you for adding Flirtation to your favorites.

Ron
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:icontheslider:
theslider Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2008  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you so much for :+fav:ing Daisy :D :D :D
--
Leonardo
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:iconrianlizada:
RianLizada Featured By Owner Aug 21, 2008
Thank you!
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