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You Seem so Fragile and My Hands Seem a Bit Too Rough for You
Will I make a sin if I apologise?
Should I not do that?
But I made a lot of mistakes.
Maybe it would have been better if you did not know.
Some.
Things.
But I like you.
I trust you.
I did that from the start.
Maybe that is why I have said things that I should have better kept to myself.
I want you to like me.
To trust me.
To know me.
I wanted that from the start.
Maybe that is why I have said things that I should have better kept to myself.
I apologise.
But is this not a good excuse?
I apologise.
But I will keep telling you things that I think.
Just so you would know me.
I want you to know me.
To understand me.
To like me.
Selfish.
Selfish.
Selfish.
Now you know.
I am just selfish.
If you read this.
Will you understand me better?
Will something change?
For better?
Or for worse?
If for worse.
Then.
My hands.
Truly.
Are.
Too.
Rough.
For.
You.
And I apologise.
A poem by me.
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To the Truthful One
A sister?
Or a friend?
A friend?
Or a sister?
Do we care?
No, we do not.
Love is still there.
Warm feelings are still there.
Smiles? Hugs? Even tears and anxiousness?
Why tears?
Why anxiousness?
Because I am afraid.
Afraid to lose you.
That would hurt.
That would hurt a lot.
More than any romantic heartbreak.
More than anything.
Moreā¦
That would mean.
I have failed as a sister.
As a friend.
As a human.
I treasure you.
I treasure you a lot.
I wish you could see.
Yourself.
Through my eyes.
The most truthful and warm flower there is.
It is you.
It is you.
It is you.
Truthful.
And warm.
Truthful.
And warm.
It is you.
And I love you.
A poem by me.
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Shameful Words that I Wish to Hide
First Encounter
I have a tendency.
To look at the strangers in the street.
But I always forget their faces.
Do you recall it?
Probably not.
I canāt remember if our eyes met or not.
Probably not.
But that was the moment I met you.
I saw your face as one of the strangerās.
And something happened.
I did not forget your face.
Are you different?
You donāt look different.
But I did not forget your face.
And I thoughtā¦
You
Must
Be
Interesting.
Second Encounter
I found out your name.
The name of the face I saw earlier.
Coincidence?
Probably yes.
Was I happy?
Yes, yes I was.
Did something special happen?
Probably no.
Did it feel special?
Yes, yes it did.
Can I tell you?
I could not sleep that night.
All my thoughts spinned aroundā¦
You.
All my feelings spinned aroundā¦
Amazement.
Can I tell you this?
Probably not.
In the Middle of Encounters
Did I forget that feeling?
Yes.
And no.
It grew smaller and smaller, yes.
Slowly I forgot to hope to bump into you on the street.
Slowly I forgot how special it felt.
Maybe, maybe, just maybe.
If I saw you more often.
Maybeā¦
I would not have forgotten it.
But I never truly forgot, no.
Sometimes thoughts about you occurred in my silly little head.
Sometimes other things reminded me of your impact.
Why?
I do not know.
Wondering.
Comparing.
Remembering.
Youā¦
Maybe, maybe, just maybe.
If I never talked to you again.
Maybeā¦
I would have forgotten it.
I do not know.
If it is worth wondering.
I-Lost-the-Number Encounter
Early.
It was early.
And there you were.
Too late.
It was too late.
But the feelingā¦
It.
Came.
Back.
Something special.
Something magical.
Soā¦
Specialā¦
Soā¦
Magicalā¦
Coincidence, coincidence, just a coincidence.
That meeting.
A coincidenceā¦
I-Lost-the-Number-II Encounter
Late.
It was late.
And there you were.
Was it the alcohol?
The snow?
The night?
You?
Something euphoric.
Something exciting.
Soā¦
Euphoricā¦
Soā¦
Excitingā¦
Mistake, mistake, just a mistake.
That meeting.
A mistakeā¦
But.
I was happy.
Isnāt that enough?
Last Encounter
I was just thinking about you.
When I recognised your face.
Coincidence, coincidence, just a coincidence.
That meeting.
A coincidenceā¦
But.
My heart was beating a bit too fast.
But.
My hands were shaking a bit too much.
I understood then.
This is not an illusion.
Something is wrong.
But something is so right.
I understood then.
This is real.
Shame, shame, just a shame.
These feelings.
A shameā¦
I do not know.
Why I feel shame.
I do not know.
Why I feel the way I feel.
I do not know.
Why I am writing this.
But I feel shame.
But I feel the way I do.
But I keep on writing.
I guess.
These.
Are.
The words.
I am.
No longer.
Hiding.
A poem by me.
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2 Knights, 1 Page, and 9 of Swords
Knight of Wands
What a man.
Getting what he wants.
Almost.
And abandoning dogs.
As he pleases.
Was I just a dog?
Yes,
Yes, I was.
Was it my fault?
Yes,
Yes, it was.
Being the knight in the shining armor as he was.
Always smiling.
Encouraging.
Only when he did that to me.
His smile disappeared.
āI have a terrible headache.ā
āGo home.ā
Itās okayā¦
It was 9 oāclock already.
I had to go home.
But he did that to me.
Did he think it was normal?
It was normal, surely.
But why did I feel so dirty?
Why did I dream of cutting off my left arm?
Why did I cry when I returned home?
Why couldn't I tell anyone?
Why?
Why?
Why..?
I just wantedā¦
It was my fault for wantingā¦
Was it connected?
My attempt,
And he?
Surely, it wasnāt.
Was it connected?
One month in the hospital,
And his rejection?
Surely, it wasnāt.
But it did hurt when he didnāt even ask why I did it.
āYou
Are
Not
Ready
For
A
Relationship.ā
Itās okay.
I knew that he would leave me since the moment that drunk man said I am beautiful.
He hated drunk people.
And yet.
The drunk one found me beautiful.
What a man.
I hope what he did to me will haunt him.
And yet.
I forgave.
Knight of Cups
What a man.
Looking only after himself.
When it is convenient for him.
And wanting love.
But who doesnāt?
He didnāt do anything wrong.
But he didnāt do anything right either.
I gave him everything I could offer.
He said he cried.
Was it that moving that someone cared for him?
Did I really give him everything?
Yes,
Yes, I did.
Was it my fault that I didnāt give enough?
Yes,
Yes, it was.
Being the knight in the shining armor as he was.
Always dreaming.
Encouraging.
What happened?
He never explained.
Is it that hard to explain?
What happened?
He did not talk to me.
Is it that hard to talk?
Itās okayā¦
He never loved me anyways.
Did I love him?
I forgot.
Empty words.
Page of Sowrds
You are different.
So far.
I never felt as myself with others as I feel with you.
That makes you different.
Was I rushing?
Yes,
Yes, I was.
Was it my fault?
Yes,
Yes, it was.
For better?
Or for worse?
Do not be afraid of being in this confession.
You are different.
You are different.
You are different.
You feel different.
Nine of Swords
Fear.
Of.
The.
Unreal.
Please,
Please, donāt let this disappear.
āI will fix the unfixable.ā
I will fight the undefeatable.
It is a hard work.
But I will work.
Will you..?
Do not be afraidā¦
A poen by me.
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Hourglass
I had a dream. Or a vision. Or justā¦ an image crossed my mind.
That image of her still haunts me now and then.Ā
Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.
Maybe the girlās beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind ā something about it just wonāt leave me. But reallyā¦ I donāt try to run away from it.
Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum.Ā
She doesnāt know her name. And she will never know it.Ā
Aevum is stuckā¦
In a gigantic sand-clock.Ā
The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease.Ā
Itās not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably.Ā
The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.
From the hourglassās upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. Andā¦ it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that canāt be found anywhere else around.
Sand falls on the girlās black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflectingā¦ Shimmeringā¦ Reflectingā¦ Hypnotizing..
Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hahā¦ Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.
But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.
Aevumās straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagineā¦
Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lipsā¦
A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book.Ā
A fairy tale book.Ā
Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess.Ā
Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.
And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom.Ā
She despairs for freedom.Ā
Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!
Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her.Ā
But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.
So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waitsā¦ And waits. And no one comes.
How long has she been waiting?Ā
Even I donāt know.Ā
And I know everything about her.Ā
I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower.Ā
I know that she hates adventure tales, because she canāt leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers.Ā
Hatredā¦
Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again.Ā
Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall.Ā
She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer.Ā
But she doesnāt stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact itās the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony.Ā
Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock.Ā
And my eyes canāt leave Aevumās face, twisted with pain. Itās as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.
Oh, but I wish she knew what I know.Ā
She canāt and will never leave the clock.Ā
Because, she is.Ā
She is the time itself.Ā
My own little time, Aevum.Ā
A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)
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Artworks are all by me!!!
Hourglass
I had a dream. Or a vision. Or justā¦ an image crossed my mind.
That image of her still haunts me now and then.Ā
Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.
Maybe the girlās beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind ā something about it just wonāt leave me. But reallyā¦ I donāt try to run away from it.
Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum.Ā
She doesnāt know her name. And she will never know it.Ā
Aevum is stuckā¦
In a gigantic sand-clock.Ā
The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease.Ā
Itās not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably.Ā
The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.
From the hourglassās upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. Andā¦ it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that canāt be found anywhere else around.
Sand falls on the girlās black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflectingā¦ Shimmeringā¦ Reflectingā¦ Hypnotizing..
Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hahā¦ Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.
But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.
Aevumās straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagineā¦
Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lipsā¦
A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book.Ā
A fairy tale book.Ā
Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess.Ā
Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.
And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom.Ā
She despairs for freedom.Ā
Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!
Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her.Ā
But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.
So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waitsā¦ And waits. And no one comes.
How long has she been waiting?Ā
Even I donāt know.Ā
And I know everything about her.Ā
I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower.Ā
I know that she hates adventure tales, because she canāt leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers.Ā
Hatredā¦
Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again.Ā
Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall.Ā
She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer.Ā
But she doesnāt stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact itās the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony.Ā
Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock.Ā
And my eyes canāt leave Aevumās face, twisted with pain. Itās as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.
Oh, but I wish she knew what I know.Ā
She canāt and will never leave the clock.Ā
Because, she is.Ā
She is the time itself.Ā
My own little time, Aevum.Ā
A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)
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Hourglass
I had a dream. Or a vision. Or justā¦ an image crossed my mind.
That image of her still haunts me now and then.Ā
Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.
Maybe the girlās beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind ā something about it just wonāt leave me. But reallyā¦ I donāt try to run away from it.
Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum.Ā
She doesnāt know her name. And she will never know it.Ā
Aevum is stuckā¦
In a gigantic sand-clock.Ā
The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease.Ā
Itās not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably.Ā
The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.
From the hourglassās upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. Andā¦ it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that canāt be found anywhere else around.
Sand falls on the girlās black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflectingā¦ Shimmeringā¦ Reflectingā¦ Hypnotizing..
Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hahā¦ Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.
But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.
Aevumās straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagineā¦
Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lipsā¦
A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book.Ā
A fairy tale book.Ā
Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess.Ā
Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.
And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom.Ā
She despairs for freedom.Ā
Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!
Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her.Ā
But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.
So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waitsā¦ And waits. And no one comes.
How long has she been waiting?Ā
Even I donāt know.Ā
And I know everything about her.Ā
I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower.Ā
I know that she hates adventure tales, because she canāt leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers.Ā
Hatredā¦
Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again.Ā
Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall.Ā
She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer.Ā
But she doesnāt stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact itās the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony.Ā
Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock.Ā
And my eyes canāt leave Aevumās face, twisted with pain. Itās as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.
Oh, but I wish she knew what I know.Ā
She canāt and will never leave the clock.Ā
Because, she is.Ā
She is the time itself.Ā
My own little time, Aevum.Ā
A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)
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A Dream of Us
Fuminori was tired.Ā
Every inch of his body weighed a ton. And yet, he continued to walk. Stepā¦ by stepā¦ Stepā¦ by stepā¦
Maybe he was injured? Fuminori couldnāt feel pain. So the answer is no.
He let out a sigh, twisted with agony. The guy was leaning against the wall, still walking forward.
Fuminori was in some sort of a tunnel. Or a hall. No idea for how long he was walking through it. Or how he got there. It seemed to never end.
Strangely, the tunnel looked quite normal. Apart from the bad smell that lurked around the corners. And the lamps on the ceilings that flickered ominously.Ā
But, it was normal. No bloody graphics. No deformed creatures, whose language Fuminori had trouble to understand.Ā
The tunnel wasā¦ Like it should look. Like any other person should see it.
But Fuminori couldnāt understand it. He had forgotten his reality of absurdism, fear and gore. So his heart wasnāt filled with joy that he was finally free. Finally human again.Ā
Stepā¦ by stepā¦ Stepā¦ by stepā¦ Stepā
Fuminori stopped. He was so concentrated on moving his body forward that he didnāt notice a door.Ā
A door. Something was unusual in his routine.
The guy was reluctant to turn the knob of this door. He felt sort of happy that his journey came to an end. And was alarmed that behind that door awaits a new challenge.Ā
No idea how long Fuminori looked at the door. Breathing heavily. Maybe he was resting.
He raised his hand. Touched the knob. He could feel cold metal welcoming him.Ā
Andā¦
He twisted it. Opening it. Stepping forward. Entering.
The door closed behind him.
ā§« Ā Ā ā§« Ā Ā ā§«
Pitch black space. Chills run down Fuminoriās spine.
It was very humid here. But that was way better than the air deficit and dryness in the tunnel.
He breaths in. Metal. He could smell it.Ā
Aside from darkness, there was a light farther away.Ā
Fuminori took a step. And immediately looked down.
His shoes were in some sort of puddle. Water broke through the fabric, cooling his feet toes.
But that didnāt stop him.
Fuminori continued to walk forward. To the light. Stepā¦ by stepā¦
It was harder than walking in the tunnel. There was no wall to lean on. The only way was to maneuver by himself.Ā
Stepā¦ by stepā¦ Stepā¦ by stepā¦ Into the lightā¦
The closer he got, the more clear it became where he was going.Ā
The light was just an ordinary ceiling lamp. Also flickering, as in the tunnel.
Stepā¦ by stepā¦ Stepā¦ by stepā¦
As Fuminori got closer and closer to the lit area, he understood that the lamp was above a table.
Stepā¦ by stepā¦
Here he was. Fuminori had reached it.Ā
The table was really long.Ā
Fuminoriās eyes followed from one side of the table to the other. And then he saw herā¦ On the other side of it, sitting in the chair. Smiling.
āWelcome, Fuminori,ā she said.
āS-Sayaā¦ā his lips hardly moved. He hadnāt talked in a long time. His throat was sore.
āIām glad you finally made it, Fuminori. Iāve waited for you for eternity. Please. sit down.ā
Fuminori could not move. He looked at Saya with awe.
How did he know her name was Saya?Ā How did she know his name?
He looked at the girl before him. She was still a child. So petiteā¦ So fragileā¦
Her smile was welcoming. But, somehow, unsettling.
After a long break, Fuminori made a choice. He touched the chair in front of him, still looking at Saya. He pulled the chair. Throwed a glance at it. The chair looked dirty.Ā
Andā¦
He sat down.
Fuminori felt anxious.
But also, he felt strangely safe, at the sight of Saya.
He raised his eyes at her, still smiling innocently.
Their eyes met.
āWell then, Fuminoriā¦ā Saya said, āAre you hungry?ā
After these words, Fuminori felt so hungry that he thought he would faint.
How come he couldnāt feel the hunger until now?
His surroundings started to faint.
āFuminori?ā He could hear far, far away. āFuminori, are you hungry?ā
It took a lot of willpower for him to murmur āyesā.
āGlad to hear that, Fuminori,ā Saya beamed. āIt took me ages to prepare all this food.ā
āAll this food?ā Fuminori thought, āThere is no food hereā¦ Just an empty table.ā
His eyes looked down from Saya's magnetizing face.Ā
Andā¦ His pupils widened.Ā
Indeed.
The whole table was covered with plates.
And in those platesā¦
Thatās what made Fuminori to shiver.
Heads.
Two heads.
Separated from their bodies. Bloody. Eyes wide open.
Hands. Bony, covered in blood.
Feet.Ā
And something that resembled intestines.
All of that was in the white as snow plates. On the black as a night table.
Metal smell. Humidity. Blood.
Fuminori looked and looked at the plates with human body parts.
A scream was stuck in his throat. No disgusted words left his mouth.
He raised his gaze back to Saya. The only beautiful thing around. The only clean from blood being.
āThank you, Saya,ā Fuminori finally said, āI am really hungry.ā
Fuminori took his fork. Took a part of the intestines from his plate.
And placed it in his mouth.
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Aevum.
Hourglass
I had a dream.Ā
It still haunts me now and then.Ā
Maybe the girlās beauty, maybe her twisted mind ā something about it just wonāt leave me.Ā
Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum.Ā
She doesnāt know her name yet. And maybe she will never know.Ā
Aevum is stuck.Ā
In a gigantic sand-clock.Ā
The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease.Ā
Itās not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives enough space for her to sit in the corner comfortably.Ā
From the hourglassās upper part falls sand, slowly and quietly.Ā
It falls on girlās black as coal hair.Ā
Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, at least my male eyes see her as such.Ā
Her straight hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow.Ā
Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line.Ā
A black dress sits on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book.Ā
A fairy tale book.Ā
Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess.Ā
And this princessĀ waits for the prince, for love, for freedom.Ā
She despairs for theĀ freedom.Ā
Her legs ache and desire to finally stand up.Ā
Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her.Ā
But always fails.Ā
So she waits for help from the outer world.Ā
How long sheās been waiting?Ā
Even I donāt know.Ā
And I know everything about her.Ā
I know her favourite tale is about the Rapunzel, because she can relate to her.Ā
I know she hates adventure tales, because she canāt leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy for free adventurers.Ā
Hatred, hatred, hatred fuels her as she tries to break free once again.Ā
Aevum raises her numb hands ant throws them against the glass wall.Ā
She hitsĀ it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, blood covers the view with a thin layer.Ā
But she doesnāt stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact itās the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and richĀ with agony.Ā
Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock.Ā
And my eyes canāt leave Aevumās agonizing face.Ā
Oh, I wish she knew what I know.Ā
She canāt and will never leave the clock.Ā
Because, she is.Ā
She is the time itself.Ā
My own little time, Aevum.Ā
A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)
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While listening to music - world appears beautiful. While creating, too. I, it seems, live through music and characters in a different world.
Entry from my diary.
#dark acadamia aesthetic#dark academia#qoutes#my diary#diary entry#romantic academia#aesthetic#light academia
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I want love. It aches, how I want. Iām crawling on every man. Pathetic.
Entry from my diary.
#dark acadamia aesthetic#dark academia#qoutes#diary entry#my diary#romantic academia#aesthetic#light academia
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Drinking my antidepressants while listening to Vivaldi, thinking that maybe the world isnāt such a bad place.
#dark acadamia aesthetic#dark academia#qoutes#romantic academia#aesthetic#light academia#vivaldi#antonio vivaldi
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Biting my finger too hard, red blood flows and paints my hands.
#dark acadamia aesthetic#dark academia#poetry#original poems#romantic academia#aesthetic#light academia
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Red lipstick stains on the cigarette.
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She despairs for the freedom.
Quote from my short story āHourglassā
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Hourglass
I had a dream. Or a vision. Or justā¦ an image crossed my mind.
That image of her still haunts me now and then.Ā
Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.
Maybe the girlās beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind ā something about it just wonāt leave me. But reallyā¦ I donāt try to run away from it.
Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum.Ā
She doesnāt know her name. And she will never know it.Ā
Aevum is stuckā¦
In a gigantic sand-clock.Ā
The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease.Ā
Itās not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably.Ā
The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.
From the hourglassās upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. Andā¦ it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that canāt be found anywhere else around.
Sand falls on the girlās black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflectingā¦ Shimmeringā¦ Reflectingā¦ Hypnotizing..
Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hahā¦ Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.
But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.
Aevumās straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagineā¦
Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lipsā¦
A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book.Ā
A fairy tale book.Ā
Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess.Ā
Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.
And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom.Ā
She despairs for freedom.Ā
Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!
Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her.Ā
But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.
So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waitsā¦ And waits. And no one comes.
How long has she been waiting?Ā
Even I donāt know.Ā
And I know everything about her.Ā
I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower.Ā
I know that she hates adventure tales, because she canāt leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers.Ā
Hatredā¦
Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again.Ā
Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall.Ā
She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer.Ā
But she doesnāt stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact itās the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony.Ā
Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock.Ā
And my eyes canāt leave Aevumās face, twisted with pain. Itās as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.
Oh, but I wish she knew what I know.Ā
She canāt and will never leave the clock.Ā
Because, she is.Ā
She is the time itself.Ā
My own little time, Aevum.Ā
A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)
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I hope I will write you again someday. And then I will finally have the courage to tell you - āI love youā. But not yet.
From the letter to my past self.
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