Matter…

Do I matter?

 

I want to matter. I want to be desired. I want to feel special. I want to be missed and thought of often. I want a simple scent or place to bring a smile to someone’s face and for them to think of me. I want to be yearned for and to give someone butterflies. I want to be supported. I want to be protected. I want to be encouraged. I want to make someone laugh and feel better about themselves when I’m around. I want to be a partner in the biggest philosophical pilgrimage that could bring ultimate joy to a person’s life. I want my life to matter. I want my last breath to matter. I want my passing to break someone’s heart and yet give them strength to keep moving forward. I want my actions to swaddle and caress, not burn and torment. I want someone to care. I want to not settle on not becoming the most important person in someone’s life. I want to feel safe. I want to matter.

 

So, why do I matter?

 

Lithia

So I was very sad when one of my RP’s on the side from wifey (she calls them side bitches) faded. It was going really well.  A bit lewd and colorful but very descriptive and the story had potential. Oh well. However I will post a piece of what I wrote for it just because I like it. Enjoy!

The rule was simple: No direct contact with anything outside of the Keijukainen realm. One could observe and that was all. Lithia Inestra, a primitive Keiju, followed that rule without question for over a century. She spent most of her time occupied with the transgressions of man against the wildlife within the dense forests of her domain. A protector, as many saw it fitting, neither ‘good or evil’; those titles quite subjective. Lithia was a mischievous sprite, finding pleasure and beauty in all things broken, occasionally twisting the fate of those that crossed her path. It wasn’t exactly frowned upon, as long as she followed the cardinal rule and stayed out of sight. There were severe consequences for any that breached that verbal contract, but it had been thousands of years since anyone of her species dared broach the subject, thus it had been all but been forgotten.

 

Lithia had two forms.

Her most common was that of a seven inch porcelain figure, resembling much of a lesser scale to the impressive statues that scattered Imperio. Silver, transparent wings endowed the full length of her tiny form, changing colors with her mood emitting a curious glow that could only be seen by those who lingered between the planes of existence. Life and death was also subjective, and humans tended to only believe in what was right in front of them, never seeing past that thin veil that lingered like a shadowy fog in which she thrived within. Thus, she was invisible to most. If one were lucky enough to bestow upon her beauty in said form, violet eyes shimmered like a threatening storm, thick raven locks cascading down between her delicate wings, clothing her naked hourglass form. Wisps of hair would cling beneath her voluptuous breasts as if to cup and support the supple flesh, defining her hairless peach that blushed like a rose between her thighs.

 

Lithia’s less frequent form wasn’t too much different than the normal except she could manipulate herself to blend in with her surroundings, giving the facade she were human. Her wings would be concealed beneath the ‘veil’, her curves lucid, embellishing a hunter green, tight knit corset that barely covered past her nipples. Her belly would be bare, a disheveled skirt ruffled and seemingly torn at all angles like crumbling leaves brittle to the touch. Most times her feet were unclad, her skin impermeable to the harsh climates and rocky terrain.

 

Lithia was growing tiresome of the redundant repose of her mere existence, so more and more she would travel into the cities in her minuscule form, perching along the shoulders of those marble sculptures, seeking out to learn and understand the mundane existence of man. On occasion she would whisper into their ears inspiration or corruptive impressions, finding amusement in how things played out in turn. Lithia had only felt remorse for her fellow creatures she watched over beneath the pale moonlight and never had she regretted her playful objectives; that is until one night.

 

For reasons obscured from reality, eyes befell upon an impeccable subject of a man, his scent being what caught her attention in the first place. There was something animalistic about his essence that lured her interest beneath his ethnological  anatomy, only heightened through his perspiration, overwhelming her carnal senses.  Lithia found herself stalking him for days, watching from the shadows, whether it be in dark corners or nestled within his long blond hair as he slept. She became obsessive, forgetting all else as she yearned to understand what compelled him to follow his brethren and then suddenly stray. His muffled curses and starset eyes tugged on her heart strings, finding his reason for questioning all that he knew, harrowing her own reflective purpose. And so, she found herself whispering into his dreams, her voice harboring an angelic sting as she sang to him with a siren’s call….Until he was excommunicated from his home.
Lithia pursued him through the forests, a place she could meander in her sleep by smell and sound alone. His cologne magnified and now changed somehow, sending her focus into a daze, the pixie under some perception of hypnosis. She wondered now if his soul had awakened, the strength he displayed clearly beyond any mortal she had ever seen as not many had dared to trespass the boundaries as he had. As she roosted along a small stone by the side of the cave’s entrance, she barely noticed the raven until it was already flying off into the midnight fog. Lithia worried if he had noticed, thus subconsciously breaking the cardinal rule when she called out to him, her voice carried in on the back of the winds of her beating wings with a haunting peculiarity, remaining in the open to be seen in her tiny form by any who knew where to look.

Divorce

I don’t hate you…
I just hate they way you gave up on us and the way you gave up on yourself.
I hate how I was ignored and underappreciated and how even now, it really is no different except I don’t live with you.
I hate that you need to be intoxicated to feel or express yourself.

I hate that you’re a zombie.
I hate that you clearly saw the effect you had over me; the toxicity claiming me and did nothing.
I hate that my soul had died, and I felt like I was withering away and you still did nothing.
I hate that you lied to me and yourself.
I hate that I wasn’t enough.
I hate the fact I am broken because of you and I have to relearn how to live.

I hate the fact that there wasn’t even another woman involved because then at least I could have understood.
I hate how worthless I felt with you.
I hate how now friends and family are fading from my life because I chose to leave you to better myself.
I hate that in choosing to live, everything around me dies.
I hate the fact I don’t miss you anymore but resent you.

I don’t hate you…I just hate the piece of me you destroyed and I can never get back.

Stalkers Day Is Near!

Happy Valentine’s…em…Stalker’s Day!

Blackbird's Nest

Before I go on with what I have to say, I’m sorry I’ve been kind of absent. Been caught up in watching the Carnaval festivities and as of yesterday I’ve been working on this bit of writing that’s… Kind of consuming my thoughts. ^^”

Also, I made this and I really like how it turned out, so I’m gonna show it off:

Nooow… Stalkers’ Day! Wooohooo!

Are you guys excited? I’m excited!

Wifey and I think we can actually hijack the date from Valentine’s Day if we gather enough support, so if you guys want to help us out, spread the word!

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Music To Get Over A Migraine…

 

Isn’t it more interesting to be unwritten and not know which direction your life is going in? Predictability; that is where we grow bored and solemn. Still, here I am staring at one of the many tabs on my browser and the one I should be focusing on is blank. Sheer white, blinding and making the pain in the base of my neck worse. It’s no better than the nightmares that indeed are reality played out; my subconscious calling me out on my denial.

Perhaps denial is the wrong word. Maybe, it is just hope that it’s not too late to change things. When does one draw the line though? Do we only say we believe it’s never too late in the beautiful aspects of peace and love when we so desperately cling to hold on? When does one run out of chances? How do we tell ourselves the pain of change will be better than the pain of falling deeper into our rut?

When do we live for today and not for what the past has taken away?

Reaching…for that something in the distance but will my fingers ever grasp it? Perhaps, maybe, or not at all, but I still love the hope that shines from these lyrics because no matter how far we fall into our rut, the rest is still unwritten.

 

 

This one has always been a favorite and this rendition’s haunting beauty lingers at the tip of my tongue and swims in the silence between my thoughts. I keep pondering one of my characters I write often with my bestie/wifey and I can’t get a scene out of my  head. I wish I could film it instead of writing it out in story though because the imagery from her powers of illusion and flashbacks from her past make for a powerful yet dark vision. Words would not be needed. Perhaps I can try…But I can’t post it until I do so in our story. To Be continued…