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Literature Text
"Hey, if raindrops are tears, what are snowflakes?"
"Kisses."
"Kisses?"
"Yeah. You know, softly falling, gently melting under warmth."
"You have a point. But what about blizzards then? I wouldn't call that falling softly."
"Blizzards would be the sort of kiss that blocks out the world, to the point where there's nothing but the kiss."
Laughter. "You're a romantic, you know that?"
"I prefer to call myself a realist with romantic thoughts. Like, raindrops are the tears of Sky when it misses Earth. And snowflakes are its reminder to Earth that they are still in love."
"So, the earth and sky are in love, are they?"
"Well, yeah. Don't laugh; it's a sad relationship. They can't ever touch."
"But between them is everything living; doesn't that make up for it? And what about lightning?"
"What about lightning?"
"Well, lightning is when electricity from the ground is drawn up into the sky, right? So for some infinitesimal second, they're connected directly. There's also birds, you know, making a nest in the ground and flying up into the sky."
Chuckle. "You're a bit of a romantic yourself, aren't you?"
Secret smile. "Indeed I am."
"Some sort of closet romantic then? You don't often show it."
"Well, I would only be a romantic with the person I love."
"How would you show it?"
"Show what?"
"Your love."
"I'd give them a snowflake everyday."
"Just one?"
"As many as they wish."
"So, if I asked you for a snowflake...?"
"I would give you as many as you wished."
"Kisses."
"Kisses?"
"Yeah. You know, softly falling, gently melting under warmth."
"You have a point. But what about blizzards then? I wouldn't call that falling softly."
"Blizzards would be the sort of kiss that blocks out the world, to the point where there's nothing but the kiss."
Laughter. "You're a romantic, you know that?"
"I prefer to call myself a realist with romantic thoughts. Like, raindrops are the tears of Sky when it misses Earth. And snowflakes are its reminder to Earth that they are still in love."
"So, the earth and sky are in love, are they?"
"Well, yeah. Don't laugh; it's a sad relationship. They can't ever touch."
"But between them is everything living; doesn't that make up for it? And what about lightning?"
"What about lightning?"
"Well, lightning is when electricity from the ground is drawn up into the sky, right? So for some infinitesimal second, they're connected directly. There's also birds, you know, making a nest in the ground and flying up into the sky."
Chuckle. "You're a bit of a romantic yourself, aren't you?"
Secret smile. "Indeed I am."
"Some sort of closet romantic then? You don't often show it."
"Well, I would only be a romantic with the person I love."
"How would you show it?"
"Show what?"
"Your love."
"I'd give them a snowflake everyday."
"Just one?"
"As many as they wish."
"So, if I asked you for a snowflake...?"
"I would give you as many as you wished."
Literature
The Movement
We are the stardust
Of the broken
And the damned
We are the followers
Of angels
And of sinners
We walk alone
In fields of gold
And fields of green
We are the dreams
Of all the dreamless children
But, they say
I am different
And they say
We are not the same
Look up
Watch the sky
And listen
To all the cries
Of the alone
Who shriek in vain
We are part
Of a movement
Changing the world
In a matter of words
We walk alone
In step with others
Our brothers and sisters
Though we do not know
Today
We link arms
Away, away, away
We go
Illuminating the night
With the daylight
In our souls
Today
We form reality
Today
We form the world
In a matte
Literature
Brief Considerations
I have briefly considered burning.
Though always smouldering,
there was never quite a flame,
so to speak.
I have always been more
like a dim light,
glaring from a distance.
After lengthy consideration,
it has been decided that the
acrid stench would do me
no favours.
I have grown to accept
that I am no star,
no source of light
for the malcontent.
I am just one small light,
flickering, wavering,
barely existing;
Yet I carry on
and that is good enough
for now.
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
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It snowed. A proverbial winter wonderland, plus an overcast sky~ i really didn't mean for this to end up as romantic as it did XD
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This was just precious~!