#footprints in the sand poem

[1-1-s1ay-2-2]

When you see only one set of footprints, it’s because Jesus is carrying you! #neveralone 💜

#footprints in the sand poem #explained #my favorite poem in the history of poems #inspirational poems #footprints in the sand #faith

[compositography]

Footprints In the Sand

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A short pictorial description of how this photo was made. The photo above is the end result. Photos below are how it came to be. While visiting our daughter’s family in Louisiana we found ourselves with some free time. My wife Googled things to do nearby, and we settled on Carthage Texas and a memorial park inspired by the poem “Footprints in the Sand” by Mary Stevenson. From plaque at…

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#Bob Harness #bronze sulpture #Capture One Express #Carthage Texas #Footprints in the Sand #historic landmark #Infrared #Jesus #Landmark #Life Pixels #Mary Stevenson #photoshop #Poem #sculpture #SONY #Texas #Willie George

[deadpanwalking]

Pale Fire poem is bad, right?

No, not exactly. The actual poetry is still enjoyable because John Shade's narrative voice is compelling, and the elegance of the poem's structure sets it apart from doggerel verse. It resembles Nabokov's own English language poetry, but the difference is that “Pale Fire” is (by design) inextricable from the context of the novel, Pale Fire. When you try to analyse it on its own, it becomes somewhat banal, an elevated iteration of Footprints in the Sand: a man reflects on his life and searches for meaning in the wake of a tragic loss, suspecting his dead daughter is trying to communicate with him, but ultimately concludes that even if the dead do speak to us from beyond, it would not be through visions and hauntings, but in ways that surpass human imagination by orders of magnitude.

John Shade is a fine poet—but Nabokov is a brilliant novelist, so both Shade and his poem became moving parts in a clockwork universe. Would you think twice about his poor Aunt Maude if you hadn't deciphered his verse about her aphasia and linked it to the transcription (pada ata lane pad not ogo old wart alan ther tale feur far rant lant tal told.¹) from Hazel's “failed” seance that Kinbote dismissively included in his footnotes?

¹ The bolding is mine, to show the three repetitions of “atalanta” (both forward and backward) that correspond with Pale Fire's motif of threes —Shade wrote the poem in three weeks, Kinbote wants you to read the commentary thrice for every time you read the poem, the Zemblan fairy tale that mentions three hundred camels and three fountains, etc.

The transcription itself is from the third night of Hazel's séance. It's a message from Maude's ghost, who remains afflicted by aphasia. Brian Boyd describes it more succinctly than I can:

But as we reread we can now see instead a message to Hazel to tell her "father (pada: pa, da, padre) he is not to go across the lane to old Goldsworth's, as an atalanta butterfly dances by, after he finishes 'Pale Fire' (tale feur), at the invitation of someone from a foreign land who has told and even ranted his tall tale to him.

So the ghost is not only real, but is—coming back to the clockwork universe metaphor—also unwittingly moved by the same metaphysical harmonic oscillator as the rest of the characters, a small part of a mechanism so complex that the paranormal is merely another component. You can't derive any of that from the verse, but when you reread it within the context of the book, you see all the intricate ways that this force operates within the poem—that's when it becomes good.

#there's also the fact that it's impossible for writers to write characters who are better writers than they themselves are #i have heard it said that when god created the universe‚ He had to exhale and get a little smaller‚ just to make room to work properly #nabokov the poet had to exhale to create john shade the poet #pale fire #vladimir nabokov #anonymous #assbox

[jeanbie]

SHARKBAIT ★ masterlist.

pairing: tolya x reader

warnings: long distance relationships, set after s2 | wc: 6.9k

note: i'm pining over tolya right now. also i know a loooot of fans view tolya as aroace so hopefully this reaches the right audience (and if the show runners or leigh ever confirm this then pls tell me)!!

⏤ Tolya can go months without seeing your face, but he can make out your shape in the darkness of the ship when you steal your visits, fleeing when the sun begins to light up the decks.

Tolya knew what it meant to long, to pine, to wonder and yearn for something you couldn't have. He saw it a thousand times with his poems, between the lines and in each stanza where a romance formed with metaphors and analogies; he saw it in his crew as they busied themselves across an unsteady ocean, searching for purpose and meaning in the vastness of blue and brown. He even saw it in his sister and passing maidens, in his captain and his need to be seen as something more than an amplifier, and he saw it in his own life- with his faith and his resilience, with his own novice works of poetry tucked into journals in his bunk, and in the whispers of silence between the two of you whenever he saw you again, and especially in the stretches of days where he didn't see you at all.

On board the Volkvolny, for what felt like years on end, Tolya had nothing but time to become familiar with what it meant to long. He'd stare out across the expanse of the sea, outlining your body in the clouds as they dipped below the horizon, in the waves rippling under the ship as it sailed away from Os Kervo to Kerch. Sometimes he thought he could make out your shape in the darkness of his bunk, a thin ghostly outline come to haunt him in his sleep, to torment his dreams. Often he woke up to a fading outline of body just to the side of his hammock, remembering that you weren't there, and wouldn't be for some time.

He supposed that he was lucky to be on this ship, with the world at his hands. There were days where he was so caught up in the passion of his work, alongside his never-faltering faith, that he didn't have time to think of you, instead only stumbling into your body through dreams, where you came to him as easily as the sea to the shore. Today hadn't been one of those days, and he feared that the crew on board the Volkvolny knew it too well.

It started off with his last nightmare. Taking steps together on a shoreline that looked like it belonged to a dip of earth in Shu Han, Tolya met you on the sands, his hand slotted into your own as he followed behind you, stepping into your sunken footprints. Tolya had been inches from your mouth before he was ripped away with the sound of horns and laughter, drops of water leaking through the deck overhead. Work was demanding his consciousness, and the image of you remained only on his eyelids as he groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd gone about his day relatively normally after that, or about as normally as he could stomach it. Tamar had seen the worst of his mood- she watched him heave himself up the stairs to the deck with a frown deep on his face, an ache at the corner of his lips tugging down. The front he performed of happiness did little to arouse his crewmates, although they joined the spectacle, letting him think he was giving a performance of a lifetime.

For a while, his mood had settled. He'd only counted seeing you in hallucinations maybe three times, but he'd stopped counting after the third, and couldn't be sure if his mind was allowing him to stick with three for the sake of his own sanity. He'd spotted you in the twist of water under the bowsprit, once in the ripple of the sails and again in the clouds. After the third, his mood was so sour that he opted to be silent for the day's voyage. People never thought they'd miss the sound of his poetry until he took his pitiful vows of silence.

Saints, how he missed you. Each time you were gone, Tolya regretted every second of silence between the two of you, every time he passed up the chance to tell you how much he loved you. And each time you were here, back with him in his arms, he couldn't seem to find the words. You weren't part of the crew on voyage with the Volkvolny, although you were never not welcome as far as Sturmhond was concerned. It was just that you preferred being on land, seeking out thrills and leads and injustice, trying to piece together the gaps in your history. Tolya knew that was what held you to the Crows, and what Inej often said was your lifeline away from him. Still, Tolya yearned for the days you were back with him, however short and fleeting. Months could pass at sea and when he saw you again, it would be like no time had passed at all.

Kerch loomed in the distance. From the crow's nest, he was told that through the spyglass, the oblong shapes of Ketterdam ports could be seen, the buildings packed together tightly and the smoke rising in the air, thick and dark like fires were blooming in the streets. It would be about two days of sailing, if the winds kept up, but if they were lucky, they might arrive ahead of schedule. Tolya couldn't count the moments quick enough- two days would be agonising until he saw you again.

"Yeesh. I kinda miss your poetry right now." Tamar crept up from behind Tolya on the hull of the ship. Not far from where Tolya was standing, with his elbows holding his body up on the side of the beams, was Jacob's ladder, hitting the side of the vessel with irritating small clicks.

Tolya glanced at her, a smile naturally falling into place. As foul as his mood might have been, there was always room in his heart for his sister. "That's something I'll never hear you say again."

His sister grinned. "I'm serious! Go on, give me something?"

Tolya replied with quiet laughter, and Tamar did the same. The twins shared their laughter for a moment before finishing in silence, and Tamar stole a glance as her brother cast his gaze to the water, curving like ribbons around the underbelly of the ship.

"Missing her?" she asked softly.

Tolya rolled his eyes, but saying nothing was as good as admitting it. 

"You know," Tamar continued, spinning so her back was pressed against the beams, "you could always just ask her to come with you." She gestured to the prow, "come with us."

"She wouldn't want to do that," Tolya said, shaking his head.

"Oh, so you asked her already?"

"Well— no."

"Then how'd you know?" 

Tolya sighed, twisting his head. He knew that you were as good as a Crow— although not exactly affiliated in whatever Kaz did or did not do, anybody who knew you knew that you did work for Kaz that filled the gap Inej made on the quest to find her brother. Even before that, you'd told Tolya that Kaz occasionally found himself asking for your help with requests that extended outside of his immediate access. You had been of some help to him finding the name of the slaver ships and traders, of which the Volkvolny was sailing back to Kerch to deliver rescued shipment (one lacking Inej's brother in tow, and the slaver who sold them). 

Your place was on land, on high ground. A bird could fly at sea, yes, but he feared you'd grow restless with little purpose on the ship. Everybody had a place and a role—he knew that simply being there for him wouldn't be a good enough reason for you to abandon whatever work you had unfinished on dry land, which is why he'd never asked you to come in the first place.

Tolya turned to face Tamar, eyeing her side-profile as she meticulously assessed the state of the ship. Many crewmates were down below, rifling through Shu poker cards and coins and sharing ghost stories with cups of ale and wine. 

"Have you ever been so scared of losing something good?" he asked suddenly, making Tamar look back at him. 

"All the time," she replied. 

Tolya dared a glance back at the ocean, relieved that he didn't find you there. "Every time I see her again, it's like magic. Bigger and grander than any kind of Saint-like act. She becomes the most important thing in the room." He blinked. "I don't want that feeling to go away."

Tamar tilted her head, as if to say, 'Go on'. There was a comfort in their twinnish bond, but even with that, Tolya struggled to find the words. Writing poetry was easy—every embarrassing thought could be passed off as fictional prose, but in a conversation it wasn't quite as easy to put on a façade. At the best of times, Tolya was as cool as a sea-cucumber, with an easy going air that put people at ease. Just another performance of a lifetime, but he didn't have to pretend sometimes when he was with his sister.

"We're just very different," Tolya said cautiously, almost like he didn't believe it were true as he said it. "I'm worried she might grow too used to me. Might get restless."

"Bored, you mean?" Tamar interrupted. When Tolya said nothing, she threw herself into extended conversation, "Brother, she adores you. That kind of love is special. And if she didn't love you more when you were doing what you do best- as in, meandering around this beast with your poetry and stupid jokes-" He looked at her with a rising smile- "-then you'd be better off for it."

His stomach churned. He didn't want to be better off without you. 

"Besides," Tamar offered her last words of comfort before pushing herself up and away from him, "there are thousands of men and women in the world for her to see each passing day, and yet she still falls into those arms of yours when we arrive in Ketterdam. If she can love you from a hundred miles away, then I think she'll manage loving you and your quirks on the open sea."

There was an insufferable ache in Tolya's chest whenever he thought back to his conversation with Tamar. 

He'd busied himself the next day, throwing himself into heavy work around the ship as it sailed nearer to the coastline. His crewmates were thankful to see him in reasonably good spirits— Sturmhond had been particularly put off by his lack of comedic timing the day before, and had tried to think back to his own experiences with Alina back in Ravka, putting the pieces together in his own time— but they knew it was bought time with Tolya's pleasantries. Tolya wouldn't be at ease until they docked and only then could his mind be put at ease. It was always the days before returning to Ketterdam where Tolya seemed at his darkest, and it had happened enough times that they should all be used to it, but the sight of his downturned face never got any easier to process.

Night ensued, the moon casting a fickle light to the ocean as it lulled to a cool and calm tempo. The winds were kind tonight, not carrying the wind in an angry gust, and the waves were short and fluid. No storms hid behind thick flurries of clouds, and the creatures below whipped their fins and tails in harmony— no trouble would come tonight, he thought, and glad of it.

Tolya lay in his hammock, staring at the wooden boards above his head. Around him, his crew slept in peaceful slumbers, and to the far side of the room he could see the auburn light of Sturmhond's—now Mal, now that the charade was over— little black lamp sheltered next to a book he'd inherited with his title, now reading to fall asleep. Tolya sighed, his gaze back above. 

The glow of light to his left allowed room for your shape to slowly appear, just an outline that got more hazy in his memory as the months went by. He gulped, the lump in his throat hard and sour tasting, and he closed his eyes quickly to throw away the image of you. Yet you remained, imprinted on his eyelids, smiling as he found sleep to take him away into the night.

When he awoke, he could hear the caw of gulls and loud voices beyond the ship, louder than what he knew his crew to be capable of. Tolya stirred for a moment before coming to his senses, his eyes honing in on the same spot he'd last seen you in above his slumbering form. The forecastle was bathed with yellow light, with the sun at an angle pouring down through the hatch to the upper deck, and as he awoke, Tolya could smell the distinct scent of crab hooks and wet moss, the lingering scent of oil and sewage and copper. Strange, he thought.

Balancing on the hammock, Tolya raised himself with his elbow and stole a glance around the forecastle. Two men lay snoring, too drunk the night before, and he noticed a third figure at the foot of his hammock, their back to him but hiding nothing about their identity. His heart lurched, he baulked, and the hammock twisted beneath him with a sudden jolt and his body was sent to the floor with a thud and a grunt.

"Easy, sharkbait."

Tolya's head whipped up quickly, the click in his neck aching. It was you- Y/N, his beloved Y/N, dressed in a blue coat that looked like Mal's. Underneath you wore a dark brown shirt tucked into your trousers—today the attire was more casual, for when you were at work you wore black and black alone. Inej told him it was to blend in with the night, but Tolya reckoned it was also because it flattered you.

You smiled at him warmly, laughing when he didn't move from the floor.

"Come on. Don't tell me after a few months you've forgotten this face?"

Tolya's mouth opened and closed. "What—no! How could I—wait, is that Mal's coat?"

He heard your laugh again as you drew near, pulling his bicep to pick him up off the floor. You were more than capable of pulling his weight, but you still found fun in pretending you couldn't. Tolya rose from the floor, both of his salt-soaked hands gently wrapping around your wrists as he faced you. A smile dawned on his lips as he drank in the image of you; fully fleshed out, solid, real, not a figment of his desperate imagination.

"I saw him up top," you told him. "He looks good as Sturmhond, right? I was almost charmed." You said it with a grin that made Tolya think otherwise, and you shuffled closer towards his torso, the action welcomed as his grip fastened slightly around your arms. 

"Charmed enough to take his clothes?" Tolya asked. He knew that there would never be anything there with Mal—Saints, everybody knew that. Mal was too busy having his own mental quarrels with Alina to entertain the thought of somebody else, and well, you seemed perfectly content being charmed by a different captain below deck, smiling at you with sleep still hanging in his eyes.

"I always did look good in blue," you said.

Tolya hummed. "Yeah."

Falling into a silence, Tolya's eyes flickered across your face, soaking up the sight of you, making a mental note of what had changed while he'd been away. Not much, he found, bar a few scratches across your left cheek flanking down to your chin, and a greenish bruise under your eye. He frowned, moving his hand to ghost his fingers across the painted skin. Meanwhile, you did the same, observing changes in his appearance, concluding every detail: the richer tan across his skin, the stubbly pricks of hair around his jawline and the appearance of a new mark under his right nostril. Drunk on the image of him, you fixed your eyes back on his, surprised to see him already looking.

"What're you doing down here anyway, sharkbait?" you asked. Your voice was lower, quieter and softer, but he knew it had nothing to do with a shift in mood. Instead, you were just simply close enough for him to hear you without strain, close enough to hear you whisper, to hear you breathing. 

Tolya offered a boyish smile. "You know."

"Had a long night?"

"Terribly long."

"What, enjoying someone's company til sunrise?" you teased, entertaining what could be signs of an insecurity in the bilge of your belly. Tolya pretended to ignore it, yet his heart sank nonetheless. 

"Come on, you know me better than that," he laughed, bringing you in closer to him. Tolya nestled his nose against yours, moving it across your face to your cheekbone and closing you in with his arms around your shoulders. He sighed, comfortable. He'd missed this, the way your body felt against his, the way your arms felt around him. Saints, he'd missed this. Tolya took in a breath, his nose above your ear. "I've missed you."

Tolya heard a hum near his sternum, rumbling with a small vibration. It made his body bristle slightly but he warmed to your touch, his arms tightening around you.

"Me too, moi sol ye tselai," you replied, feeling his nose twitch as a smile grew on his face. 

For a moment you stayed like that, entangled in the quiet of the forecastle. Tolya didn't waste a single second of it, not after the torment he'd given himself just hours before. After some time, Tolya felt you wiggling in his arms and he relaxed, opening the distance between you as he leaned back to look at your face. You looked back at him with a smile, head angled up to marvel at him, and Tolya's eyes shifted into crescent moons as he brought his head down to kiss you. 

His one hand cradled the side of your face, the other at the back of your neck, and you made no resists to his advancements. Tolya kissed you deeply, lost in the familiar taste of your lips, sweet like the breakfast you must have ate before coming down here. He felt you kiss him back, the pressures combined, your hands up around his wrists. Your head leaned back slightly, his dominance slightly more assertive, as he captured your lips once, twice, thrice, never allowing a minute of rest.

When he did pull back, he was met with your widened eyes, shining in the light, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and refrain from a smile. He saw it anyway, kissing you once more in a swift gesture and bringing himself back in what he thought was a commendable act of self restraint.

"I take it we are in Ketterdam," he asked, more of like a statement. It had to be true, since you were here. Unless he was dreaming, which he had a sinking feeling that he could be, perhaps trapped in a powerful lucid dream, some kind of sleep paralysis that had him smooching something akin to a squid on the prow. Unlikely, but not impossible, given his mood these days.

"How else would I be here?" you replied with a gentle laugh. 

He held you by your waist as you turned, observing the forecastle he sometimes called home. Tolya freed his grasp with reluctance, holding your fingers til the last second and he fell forward a few steps trying to grab you back. You moved around the hammocks, ducking under a lamp with a feigned interest in the bunks. Tolya didn't like to use his heartrending on you, but he could hear your hammering heartbeat even without using his talents. He smiled in private, watching you with adoration.

"I arrived here as soon as you docked," you explained, still looking around. Tolya hummed with interest, leaning his weight against a support beam. "I was having breakfast with Nina when Jesper told me that your Volkvolny was coming to the harbour. I finished, paid and came here as fast as I could. You didn't meet me at the deck, but it was so early, I figured you'd be sleeping. I greeted your crew, shook hands with your new captain, hugged Tamar, stole a coat and then came down here." You smiled, spinning back to look at him. Your bravado was complete. "To answer your question—yes. Welcome back to Ketterdam."

Tolya loved when you launched into explanations like this. He had a series of entries in a journal you shared where you'd given full detailed accounts of your adventures, but the ink never did justice to the words as you said them. Tolya's grin widened. 

"Kaz wanted to speak with you, too," you added, stepping back towards him and stretching out your hand. Tolya's stomach churned again when he took it with his own, feeling the small blisters across your skin from all your ropework and midnight affairs as an unofficial Crow. Like his own, actually, littered with chafes and burns from the ropes to the masts, sea salted splits across his hands whenever he got too heavy handed around the deck or in other ports. 

"Let's go up, then."

You led the way, all the way to the stairs where Tolya enjoyed watching you ascend before following. It'd been a minute, he'd take whatever he could to feel like everything was good again. Once he stepped up out of the dappled light of the forecastle, he cringed in the brightness of the sun. It was never very bright in Ketterdam, but anything was brighter than the lamplight below. The harbour was alive with noise and merchants. He never missed the smell of Ketterdam, although he admitted that it was a stench that one really did grow accustomed to, as it were with any foreign harbour.

From the deck, he could see the stretch of sea behind him and back ahead, a small cluster of faces across the way. He knew them all already, each by both name and face, and he stepped towards his sister-in-command with you close in tow. His body shivered when your hands smoothed around his middle to manoeuvre around him and Tolya watched you meet your hip with Inej's. Tolya spared another hungry glance at you and then looked back at Kaz expectantly, as he launched into an explanation on affairs in Ketterdam.

The Volkvolny would stay in Ketterdam just shy of a day, giving Tolya more anxiety than it did comfort. There wouldn't be enough time for him to remind you of how much he missed you, and there was certainly no privacy for him to put it into actions instead of words. But business needed to be swift, that was if they wanted a good chance at catching the ships that both you and Kaz felt could hold the secrets to Inej's brothers' whereabouts. The Crow Club was magnificent, but no place for a love-filled reunion, and he couldn't see either of you feeling particularly romantic in the streets. With the Volkvolny being groomed for their next sail, Tolya resorted to holding you close at all times, with meaningful stares and listening with colourful interest about your life over a table in the club, while Kaz oversaw his business and friends reunited once more. Tolya ate up what he could learn about your life during the three months he was at sea.

You had been working with Kaz to crack down harder on slavery leads, finding nothing much about your own family and little to nothing about anybody else's. Inej had been given a much narrower list of names thanks to your good work on the streets, and Tolya heard from Jesper that you'd been a useful asset to the Crow's, although always declined the hospitality of their affiliation for some reason. Meanwhile Tolya offered what he thought might interest you the most about his time away; battles against rough waves, giant squids and krakens lurching from below, sharks and dolphins scratching the surface of the water with their fins chased by swirling serpents; funny tales from travellers in different ports, a retelling of Mal's first night getting drunk at sea. 

Tolya thought, as you mused and laughed opposite him at the table with your friends and found-family, that you were most beautiful when you were off guard. As he stared at you, he felt his heart tug once more. In just a few hours, there'd be nothing left to look at, just shadows in the dark, voices in the wind mimicked by sirens as they fondled the underbelly of the boat, enticing deaf ears to the water as the crew grumbled and sang over their call. The thought of leaving you made him feel sick.

He briefly thought about what Tamar had said. It was true that Tolya had never asked you to join him at sea, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be. There would always be something keeping you here, keeping you both apart.

"How long this time?" you asked, when you both managed to steal some time alone to walk along the dark streets of Ketterdam. With Rollins in prison and with Kaz taking command of a smidge of the barrel, you figured it would be safe out here. Besides, Tolya was tall enough to tower over even Fjerdans, and that was no easy feat. Anyone dumb enough to pick a fight with a man his size could break a few bones trying, even if you both knew that out of the two of you, you had more practice taking down the big guys.

Tolya dipped his head. "If we're lucky, then a month or so." He paused, thinking, "You said that list you gave to Inej was accurate, right?"

"I think so. Every lead I had took me right back to those three names," you replied. Inej had flinched at the sight of them, meaning your hunch was accurate enough to give Tolya the hope of coming back soon. 

"If the winds are kind, and the journey is good, we can be back before it starts getting cold here," Tolya said, almost like he was making a wish at a well or a plea to a Saint. "Without any luck on our side, it could be longer..."

You frown, looking over at Tolya and tightening your grasp on his hand. "We'll manage."

"I hope so, milaya," Tolya said, kissing the back of your hand. 

Once you both reached a bright streetlight, you turned to face him. "Do you think it will ever end?"

Tolya paused. "What do you mean?"

"As in…this search. Once you find Inej's brother, what comes next?" you ask. You turn away slightly, Tolya's gaze tight on your movements. "Suppose you'll go sailing to wherever next, right? Or…will you stay a while?"

Tolya knew what you were asking, obvious in what you didn't say. There had been countless times where Tolya had imagined himself throwing his life on the Volkvolny away just to be with you, to retire with you to some peaceful town with no worries, nothing at all but peace gifted by Alina tearing down the fold and enough money and shelter to settle down, explore the world, fall deeper in love. But the Volkvolny was his life, his meaning when he didn't fall into his faith. You were his love, his beloved, but neither one could expect the other to give up their identity to be somebody they weren't.

"I'm not sure," Tolya said truthfully. "And yourself? You're so busy with Kaz here, you may well be a Crow by the next time I see you. Your work seems to spring up like fleas."

Your mouth tilted downwards. He was right. Tolya was the love of your life but there would always be the issue of work. Without your demand with the Crows, what were you? Nothing but a shadow skulking around the city, tailing crooks, locating slaves? You supposed you could be more—you'd thought about it a few times, getting up and going with Tolya wherever he asked you to go. But those were dreams, frightening dreams you weren't sure Tolya saw eye to eye with. His voyages felt to you like escapes.

"Well—" Tolya broke through the silence, using his index finger to pick up your head by your chin. When your eyes met, he smiled warmly, kissing you. "Whatever comes next, I'll be there waiting for you."

Tamar stood beside Kaz and Mal as Tolya heaved himself up the ramp and onto the ship. You were close behind, shadowing his steps, cautious about even a step of distance. Tamar sighed loudly, and Kaz looked over at her and followed her gaze.

"What is it?" he asked. Kaz thought he already knew, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Oh, a lovers parting," she said dramatically. 

Mal smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. "If they're trying to be subtle about things, they're doing a terrible job."

Kaz observed the couple. Kaz knew you well enough to respect you, perhaps even call you a friend, and he had no obvious qualms with Tolya. He'd never forget his loyalty before Alina tore down the fold, and had no concerns about him being a weakness to who might just be his next Crow. He stared at the back of Inej's head for a second too long as she helped someone heave some shipment to a different compartment of the ship, and then he looked back to Tolya and yourself with a funny feeling twist in his stomach.

"Why grovel?" Kaz asked. "Y/N can leave at any time if she wishes."

Tamar glanced over quickly, as if the news was surprising to her. "She's not working?"

"Her work is done," Kaz said plainly. Tamar and Mal's look of confusion made him twitch with slight annoyance, but he otherwise elaborated on what they didn't know: "I told Y/N to find leads on the slavers. She supplied the list of three and now you will be on your way to locate them. Her task has been completed, and she is free to go."

"Yeesh," Tamar said, "way to make her sound expendable."

"Everybody is."

Kaz looked back at Tolya, holding you in his arms. "I have Nina on a lead already. Until I have something for Y/N to do, she is free to do whatever she pleases." He added as an afterthought, "After all, she's not under my employment."

Hm. Tamar and Mal exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Will you be here? When we come back?" Tolya asked you. From afar, he could sense his sister's lingering gaze, and he spared a look, alarmed when he saw her, Mal and Kaz watching the pair of you.

"Most likely," you said. You followed his gaze and nodded your head in their direction, Tolya leading you by the waist back to the step-down where Kaz stood at the top, like a bouncer guarding the way. Tolya greeted each one with a glance and a smile before looking back at you.

There wasn't enough time this time around. Tolya's heart wrenched as he looked at you, trying to remember every detail before he had to leave. Their stops in Ketterdam were never very long, but how he longed for a day more by your side, simply one more hour in your company. The thought of leaving you made his throat harden, tears springing behind his eyes. A blink would surely set them free, but he knew the ways to keep them hidden until he was safe in the darkness, not until you came to him in a premonition like a sick joke.

Tamar and Mal—Sturmhond, now he was back on the wood of the ship— gave a look to Kaz in farewell and stepped around the back of you to move further on the deck. Tolya's heart quickened and you watched them go with a rapid look, glancing back at Tolya with twinkling eyes, twinkles he knew were tears and not reflections of light.

"None of that," he said quietly, with a small smile and he reached out to cup your face. Tolya guided you close for a kiss, and a bell rang from somewhere in the harbour and his heart leaped to his throat. He tugged you closer, kissing you harder. Kaz looked away, fixated on Inej but giving you at least the luxury of some privacy. Tolya lost himself in your kiss, his fingertips brushing your hairline and he swore he could taste the salt of your tears between his lips. Tolya pulled away from you slightly, his eyes slightly wide and breath raspy and all of a sudden: "Come with me."

There was a beat of silence.

If other crewmates heard, they didn't give much away. Kaz had torn his eyes from Inej in a painful defeat, with no option but to assess the lovers before him, and truth be told, Tamar and Sturmhond never stopped watching. Tolya didn't allow the silence to kill his courage. If he didn't say it now, he never would.

"I love you," Tolya said. "I love you so much—eya fyela chi, hm? And I know that your heart is here, with the city and the Crows and your life but, Saints, Y/N I see you in my dreams, I see you in the water and the sky and hear you in the ocean breeze. When I close my eyes, I see you in flashes. You have bewitched me, you are in my soul. I love you. Whenever we are apart, it's like a torment." He gulped. He sounded a lot like some of the amateur poetry he wrote when he felt lonely, poetry he sometimes recited to his crew if he got drunk enough. "So, please, please come with me. See the ocean, go across the sea. Be with me, stay with me—come with me."

His eyes searched your face for a sign, something—anything. You blinked, bewildered, holding his hands as they cupped your face.

"But…" you began to shake your head, and his heart sank deeper, "but my work…"

You spared a glance to Kaz. He could act like he hadn't been listening, but it wouldn't do anybody any good. You were almost startled to see him already observing you. 

"I don't need you," Kaz said simply. "I just owe you a debt."

"But, the slaves—"

"You did your job," he repeated. "So you're free to go."

Tolya was just as surprised as you were. He looked at Kaz with round eyes and met yours in a simultaneous turn. He wasn't quite sure what to say about any of it. Was Kaz telling you to go? Was he giving you permission, saying go, leave, or were you now useless to the Crows? Was it only because he had asked? Maybe you didn't want to leave.

"Am I fired?" you asked dumbly.

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of a smirk on Kaz's face. "I expect your contract will need renewing upon your arrival. There are many things to do in Ketterdam, just not now. Not for you, at least."

You blinked. Processing his words felt like an eternity—you were free to go. Kaz had made it clear that you'd still have a life on shore when you arrived, if you even left in the first place. Marvelling at the thought, you looked back at Tolya. Travelling the oceans with him; being in his arms each night, getting to know the parts of him reserved to his crew, his faith and his poetry and his talents on the deck, seeing what caused the scars on his hands, what caused the creases in his skin; what he ate and drank, what he wore on different days, how his hair fell in the mornings when it wasn't fastened out of his face. All of that for the taking, and you just had to say the words.

Tolya's face didn't waver, giving nothing away as you said nothing to him. For a while, he thought he knew what you'd say. Tolya, I'm sorry, but I just can't—

"But where would I sleep?"

He hadn't expected that.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. "I think there's room for you in my hammock, if you'd like." He caught your look of doubt and grinned, "Aw, come on. I'm not that big."

"What would I do?"

Slowly but surely, Tolya thought he could sense hope building inside of him. You hadn't yet declined. Your piqued interest gave food for thought as Tolya studied your expressions.

"Well," he said, thinking about it. Actually he'd already thought about it, more than ten times out at sea, twice within the few hours they were in Ketterdam, "you could do anything you wanted. Gaze out at the seas. Play card games—in no time, you'll be a better player than Tamar. You could paint the decks, climb the masts, sit in the nest all day for all I care. I just want you to be with me, for longer than just a few hours." 

Tolya's eyes were almost pleading. You gazed into them. There was no need to think, you already knew what you wanted to say. Chewing the skin of your inner cheek, your eyes flickered to Mal. As Sturmhond, you figured whatever he said went. Tolya followed your gaze and laughed when he spotted the source of your interest.

Mal's eyes flickered, like he'd been alerted back to the present. He looked around innocently, refraining from smiling when he caught the glimmer in Tamar's eyes next to him. 

"Don't look at me," Mal said to you, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands, "I'm not in charge."

When you next looked at Tolya, you were smiling. From the corner of your eye, Tamar clapped Mal on the shoulder and disappeared into the crew, helping Nadia unload cargo to a different spot below deck. For a second, Mal looked as though he didn't know what to do with himself, until he shuffled further towards the bow, scanning the horizon. Kaz was no longer on the ship when you turned to acknowledge him. You saw the shape of his coat disappear back into the masses in the harbour, and Jesper extended his hat in a farewell and turned to follow. Nina would understand, you hoped, as you were sure she'd still be occupied with freeing her 'hunk of meat'.

"What do you say, lapushka?" Tolya asked. He knew he was cheating by using the Ravkan tongue on you. You'd mentioned it was your mother language only once in passing, and he'd never wasted a second on charming you with it. He ran his hands up and down your arms, arching to look into your eyes with a wide smile on his face. Tolya grinned as he moved with your shyness, a laugh huffing through his lips. "Hm? Will you come with me?"

You laughed, giggled in his arms, as he brought you closer with a kiss under your eye. Squirming, you faked revolt, wrestling out of his grasp. Your smile told him your answer—the rest was roleplay. 

"I know we're going far from home," he said, watching as someone stepped close to pull up the ramp from the harbour. The distinct clink of the anchor filled his ears, departure would be soon and if you wanted to say no, then now was the time. You never did. "But I promise I'll take care of you."

You gazed at him fondly, reaching up to steal a kiss from his lips. He lingered, his face warm in the rising sun. "You can focus on your business, and I'll keep you safe from harm."

Tolya gasped teasingly. "You know the way to a man's heart, I see."

He pulled himself away, with some reluctance, with a grin and shuffled to aid his mates with assembling the ship. Before he could stray too far, you hooked your finger around the strap over his shoulders, used to hold his ensemble of guns and weapons. Tolya looked back as he felt the pull, the adoration in his gaze never faltering.

"Only the hearts of men I love," you told him, and he smiled, bigger and brighter, tilting his head as his eyes folded into Cheshire smiles before he winked, dipping his head back to look at his crew.

You watched him retreat along the deck, his assertion cool and respectful, commanding the attention of the crew as they fell into their formations. Figuring you had time to find your place, you stood rooted where you had been standing this time, casting one final look at the harbour; you bid silent farewell to the streetlights and carts, to the horses snuffling as they loaded merchandise and travellers into the carriages pulled by their strength, to the place you lovingly called home, until a new one found its way to you in the shape of a man named Tolya, who wherever you were together became your new anchor, the new place you fell to for comfort and safety. The man you loved, yours for the taking, for a life stretching past the horizon across that plane of endless sea.

#tolya yul bataar #tolya #tolya x reader #tolya yul bataar x reader #tolya imagine #tolya scenario #shadow and bone tolya #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #grishaverse imagine #tamar yul bataar #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #nina zenik #inej gafha #malyen oretsev #stormhund #tolya fluff #ittojean #shadow and bone #jeanbie

[the-end-society]

Discussion: Footprints in the sand.

what is legacy? How do you define it? Do hope to have your own?

Legacy can be an important notion for many,maybe it is for you, maybe not. I cant say I've thought much about it to be honest.

But I do know that when i die i hope to leave a legacy of joyfull memories, support and advice ( even if it's not taken or useful to everyone). You might view legacy as something that has to withstand all of time, but in reality your legacy might be a small ripple in someone's life. I find that to be quite beautiful, that when all traces of you are gone there might be something left.

The books and poems that have in alot of ways shaped and broke us are someone's legacy, I wont ever know Edgar Allen Poe or William Shakespeare but i read the words they leave behind and for amount its like a piece of them lives on. A moment in time morphing and reapearing throughout history while the flesh is now dust.

What will be your legacy? Do carry anothers with you through life?

-Share your thoughts in a poem , excerpt from a wip or just rant away!

@ us @the-end-society with 'Footprints in the sand' for a reblog.

#The end society #February discussion #Legacy's #writing prompt #creative writing #writing advice #writer stuff #writing inspiration #writing community #prompts #writers and poets #writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

[lunchboxpoems]

PRISM

1. Who can say what the world is? The world is in flux, therefore unreadable, the winds shifting, the great plates invisibly shifting and changing–

2. Dirt. Fragments of blistered rock. On which the exposed heart constructs a house, memory: the gardens manageable, small in scale, the beds damp at the sea’s edge–

3. As one takes in an enemy, through these windows one takes in the world:

here is the kitchen, here is the darkened study.

Meaning: I am master here.

4. When you fall in love, my sister said, it’s like being struck by lightning.

She was speaking hopefully, to draw the attention of the lightning.

I reminded her that she was repeating exactly our mother’s formula, which she and I

had discussed in childhood, because we both felt that what we were looking at in the adults

were the effects not of lightning but of the electric chair.

5. Riddle: Why was my mother happy?

Answer: She married my father.

6. “You girls,” my mother said, “should marry someone like your father.”

That was one remark. Another was, “There is no one like your father.”

7. From the pierced clouds, steady lines of silver.

Unlikely yellow of the witch hazel, veins of mercury that were the paths of the rivers–

Then the rain again, erasing footprints in the damp earth.

8. The implication was, it was necessary to abandon childhood. The word “marry” was a signal. You could also treat it as aesthetic advice; the voice of the child was tiresome, it had no lower register. The word was a code, mysterious, like the Rosetta stone. It was also a roadsign, a warning. You could take a few things with you like a dowry. You could take the part of you that thought. “Marry” meant you should keep that part quiet.

9. A night in summer. Outside, sounds of a summer storm. Then the sky clearing. In the window, constellations of summer.

I’m in a bed. This man and I, we are suspended in the strange calm sex often induces. Most sex induces. Longing, what is that? Desire, what is that?

In the window, constellations of summer. Once, I could name them.

10. Abstracted shapes, patterns. The light of the mind. The cold, exacting fires of disinterestedness, curiously

blocked by earth, coherent, glittering in air and water,

the elaborate signs that said now plant, now harvest–

I could name them, I had names for them: two different things.

11. Fabulous things, stars.

When I was a child, I suffered from insomnia. Summer nights, my parents permitted me to sit by the lake; I took the dog for company.

Did I say “suffered”? That was my parents’ way of explaining tastes that seemed to them inexplicable: better “suffered” than “preferred to live with the dog.”

Darkness. Silence that annulled mortality. The tethered boats rising and falling. When the moon was full, I could sometimes read the girls’ names painted to the sides of the boats: Ruth Ann, Sweet Izzy, Peggy My Darling–

They were going nowhere, those girls. There was nothing to be learned from them.

I spread my jacket in the damp sand, The dog curled up beside me. My parents couldn’t see the life in my head; when I wrote it down, they fixed the spelling.

Sounds of the lake. The soothing, inhuman sounds of water lapping the dock, the dog scuffing somewhere in the weeds–

12. The assignment was to fall in love. The details were up to you. The second part was to include in the poem certain words, words drawn from a specific text on another subject altogether.

13. Spring rain, then a night in summer. A man’s voice, then a woman’s voice.

You grew up, you were struck by lightning. When you opened your eyes, you were wired forever to your true love.

It only happened once. Then you were taken care of, your story was finished.

It happened once. Being struck by lightning was like being vaccinated; the rest of your life you were immune, you were warm and dry.

Unless the shock wasn’t deep enough. Then you weren’t vaccinated, you were addicted.

14. The assignment was to fall in love. The author was female. The ego had to be called the soul.

The action took place in the body. Stars represented everything else: dreams, the mind, etc.

The beloved was identified with the self in a narcissistic projection. The mind was the subplot. It went nattering on.

Time was experienced less as narrative than ritual. What was repeated had weight.

Certain endings were tragic, thus acceptable. Everything else was failure.

15. Deceit. Lies. Embellishments we call hypotheses–

There were too many roads, to many versions. There were too many roads, not one path–

And at the end?

16. List the implications of “crossroads.”

Answer: a story that will have a moral.

Give a counter-example:

17. The self ended and the world began. They were of equal size, commensurate, one mirrored the other.

18. The riddle was: why couldn’t we live in the mind.

The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

19. The room was quiet. That is, the room was quiet, but the lovers were breathing.

In the same way, the night was dark. It was dark, but the stars shone.

The man in bed was one of several men to whom I gave my heart. The gift of the self, that is without limit. Without limit, though it recurs.

The room was quiet. It was an absolute, like the black night.

20. A night in summer. Sounds of a summer storm. The great plates invisibly shifting and changing–

And in the dark room, the lovers sleeping in each other’s arms.

We are, each of us, the one who wakens first, who stirs first and sees, there in the first dawn, the stranger.

LOUISE GLUCK

#louise gluck #poem #poetry #summer #summer poem

[unexpectederawhilesubmitting]

I went back to my old hometown for Christmas and had to forcibly detransition myself back into the closet for safety reasons, spent the holidays miserably wearing a chest binder. In order to calm down from the stress, I wrote a poem about hermit crabs =)

all of the me that I am

the crabs line up on the beach to leave their homes behind too much of them sticks out bits and bobs of chitin and limbs shells so warm and paper thin skin my shell is cracked my body exposed as they line up homes straight down the road the warmth and light and heat of the sand a firm foundation on which I stand replace each part of a sinking ship

but what wood remains?

build it all again with the parts left behind craft a shelter from the waves with sputtering lungs flotsam and jetsam and the remnants of yourself

breathe in your new air choke on the salt and brine nostalgic for oxygen, rust oxidating the carbon stardust in your eyes

generate a new face, new name

stand on the shore and watch yourself sail away your footprints in the sand doubled as you pick up what remains Lake Michigan never gives up her dead but maybe this time this time she'll bring me back to life this time this time the lights will illuminate the rocks on the shore as the crabs wave goodbye to their homes and grow and shift and writhe and write and watch their family live inside the shells of who you were

I outgrew it but my body once filled it and now it's all that protects you from the sun and I wish you better

maybe a wandering hand will pick you up and take you away from the warmth and the sand to live in a plastic paradise All your needs met Everything you are, cherished A new shell every time a part of you doesn't fit anymore

All it takes is leaving the line behind Wander far away from family eyes Feel the shell constrict and bind as your body molts and writhes Watch the water leave you behind as the moon moves and shifts and pulls the tide Dry your bones upon the sand and feel the grit and grime

It's all just you, anyway

the parts of you you leave behind, the moon massages and smoothes and grinds until you're soft and warm and abrasive and bitter

it's all still you

Did you really think you had a claim to ownership? When did you make the sand and the dust that you'll become? When was your first thought? Your first laugh? Were you even there?

Or was that just the shell you used to wear?

#poetry #poem #transgender #transfemme #trans pride #lgbtq #queer #queer poetry #trans poetry

[nervousloveheart]

I was never meant to fly like the rest of you

I was never meant to fly like the rest of you. I was never meant to see the world from a birds eye view, above the clouds with the sun glistening on my feathers. I was never meant to feel life like that, to feel the world like that. 

Instead, I was meant to spend my days crawling, sometimes stumbling over the endless miles on our earth, putting one foot in front of the other. 

But I don’t mind. They can’t see the beauty that I do. They can’t see the tiny blades of dewed grass in the morning, they can’t see the grains of sand on a beach rolling out with the waves. They can’t see the footprints on commonly traveled paths that connect people from all walks of life, they can’t see the ripple of water on the surface of a lake. 

They will never know what they’re missing.

—--------------------------------

In this poem, I described things high off the ground and in the air to represent neurotypical people’s way of thinking and the way the world was built to accommodate them. I described things close to the ground to represent the way neurodivergent people are often focused on one thing and how they can see the beauty in some things a lot easier than others can, and because the way they see things is different to the way neurotypical people do. Flying does not equal success, you can’t find diamonds if you’re not digging in the dirt.

#neurodivergent #neurodiverse stuff #autistic #autism #autism peom #autism writing #my writing #my quote #my peom #poems #poems and poetry #original peoms #my original writing #my original content #my quotes #quotes #poetry writing #creative writing #creative

[simmillercc]

SIMS 4 - FOOTPRINTS PAINTING - BASE GAME

I made a version of this comforting painting for The Sims 3 back in 2011 and decided to make a new one for The Sims 4, also in Simlish.

Footprints is an original poem by Mary Stevenson, written in 1936:

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was only one.

This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow, or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord,

'You promised me Lord,

that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?'

The Lord replied, 'The years when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.'

----------------------------------------------

300 Simoleons in game, entitled Footprints by Simmiller, and provides happiness environment +2.

DOWNLOAD FREE HERE 

#ts4 paintings #sims 4 paintings #ts4 decor #sims 4 decor #curseforge #simblr

[tundrakatiebean]

Walking in the sand poem but instead of Jesus carrying you so there’s only one set of footprints you look back and see a whole crowd of footprints walking with you because your community and friends were walking with you even if they couldn’t be there physically.

Alternate: you just see a huge drag mark and finally notice the amount of weight you’ve been carrying so you can be impressed with how far you’ve managed to get even with how much extra work you had to put in

#Katie is rambling 2k23 #I legit hated that poem growing up #so stupid #‘that’s where I was carrying you’ #ok then actually help? #my elementary best friend pinching a bully off of me did more for me than that ever did

[ddlcsprite]

DDLC | Nataukis third poem version 2 | Poem

I’ll Be Your Beach

Your mind is so full of troubles and fears That diminished your wonder over the years But today I have a special place A beach for us to go.

A shore reaching beyond your sight A sea that sparkles with brilliant light The walls in your mind will melt away Before the sunny glow.

I'll be the beach that washes your worries away I'll be the beach that you daydream about each day I'll be the beach that makes your heart leap In a way you thought had left you long ago.

Let's bury your heavy thoughts in a pile of sand Bathe in sunbeams and hold my hand Wash your insecurities in the salty sea And let me see you shine.

Let's leave your memories in a footprint trail Set you free in my windy sail And remember the reasons you're wonderful When you press your lips to mine.

I'll be the beach that washes your worries away I'll be the beach that you daydream about each day I'll be the beach that makes your heart leap In a way you thought had left you long ago.

But if you let me by your side Your own beach, your own escape You'll learn to love yourself again.

#ddlc #doki doki literature club #ddlc sprites #file #natsuki #poem

[ruknowhere]

Architect’s Watercolor

-by Arthur Sze

An architect draws a watercolor

depicting two people about to enter

a meeting room, while someone

on the stairway gazes through windows

at a park, river, skyscrapers beyond;

he does not want to be locked

like a carbon atom in a benzene ring

but needs to rotate, lift off,

veer along wharves and shoreline.

In the acoustics of this space,

he catches a needle bounce

off a black granite floor, wanders

from a main walkway, encounters

prickly pear burned purple in wind.

In the ocean gusts before dawn,

he yearns for a Mediterranean spray

where sunlight tingles eyelashes,

where sand releases heat

under the stars. In the atrium,

two violinists launch fireworks

of sound that arc, explode, dissolve

into threads of melodic charm.

Here slate near a pool of water

absorbs sunlight, releases ripples

into the evening; and in this space,

each minute is encounter:

he steps out and makes

footprints on a sidewalk dusted with snow.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/156424/architects-watercolor

[blackkatmagic]

Idk of this was mentioned before, so apologies if this is a repeat question, but where did you come up with the title for Efface? It's a unique title/ line :)

It's from a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem! Specifically "The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls".

Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls.

#kat answers

[neopronouns]

colorgenders inspired by the results of a “What is your Aura” quiz ((https://)uquiz(.)com/quiz/pxTx2D/what-color-is-your-aura):

Sky: short poems, teacups, clear skies, diaries, dripping icicles, tears, tennis shoes.

Honeysuckle: succulents, key lime, glow-in-the-dark stars, blown glass, honeydew, garter snakes, notes in bottles.

Seafoam: clear water, milkshakes, crystals, agave, candy dishes, converse, seashells.

Yellow: daisies, road signs, bumblebees, lemon meringue, bicycles, polaroids, awnings.

Hickory: felled oak, brass, sunken ships, olive pits, graphic shirts, splinters, dark room.

Orange: guitars, fanta bottles, sunglasses, orange peels, butterflies, popsicles, paper lanterns.

Sage: herb clippings, matcha, bullet journals, mini backpacks, needle felts, pistachio, laptop stickers.

Teal: dyed hair, scales, doc martens, aurora borealis, stormy seas, kingfishers, agate. 

Royal (blue): crown jewels, portraits, satin chairs, masquerades, nebulas, betta fish, secrets.

Gold: lion statues, coins, gold leafing, bound books, goldfinches, crowns, heart lockets. 

Crimson: rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewellery.

Navy: brush strokes, suit jackets, midnight, comforters, star gazing, arctic waters, starlings.

Forest: fern leaves, greenhouses, cloaks, bookstores, pine trees, chokers, snake scales. 

honey: friendship bracelets, beehives, school buses, children's books, flower petals, honeyed toast, polaroids. 

Ashen: old newspapers, smoke, quiet cities, pale cheeks, pebbles, chalk, the clouded moon.

Garnet: Brooches, anthologies, stained glass, leaves, dining chairs, long robes, curtains.

Chiffon: stone walls, sweaters, moths, dusty lace, animal tracks, incense, throw pillows.

Red: leather jackets, cherries, bruised knuckles, roses, lipstick, fast cars, rose petals.

Magenta: splattered paint, glitter, childhood friends, neon, pleather, dance floors, crystals.

Amaranth: bundled flowers, ribbon, merlot, overcoats, gemstones, lipstick prints, red velvet.

Periwinkle: knit hats, candies, tiny flowers, beads, teacups, washi tape, clouds.

Jade: islands, sketchbooks, rainy windows, pendants, puzzle pieces, tree frogs, sea glass.

Pink: cupcakes, sunglasses, pink sands, starbursts, pinky promises, flower crowns, ice cream.

Rose: lace, blown kisses, milk tea, paper fans, pillows, ballet slippers, fairy wings.

Amethyst: earrings, violet corts, parades, gemstones, insect wings, grape bushels, outer space.

Noir: drops of ink, eyeliner, crows, spiders, charcoal, painted nails, the night.

Cream: dandelions, marble, bottled coffee, hair ties, banana cream, bedsheets, sketches. 

Beige: lattes, dry fields, footprints, easels, cat fur, pottery, fresh-baked cookies.

Pearl: abalone, perfume bottles, chandeliers, tulle, ball jointed dolls, satin, paint palettes. 

Bronze: leather books, cowboy hats, foxes, candle jars, sword hilts, cobblestone streets, hourglasses

Amber: autumn days, freckles, torches, cabins, fossils, unbrushed hair, enamel pins.

Fire: sunrises, woven blankets, campfires, tigers, whiskey, monarchs, road trips.

Purple: geodes, club lights, ferris wheels, sunglasses, hummingbirds, eyeshadow, outer space. 

Blush: lollipops, warm cheeks, lip gloss, flowers, flamingo feathers, painted nails, heart glasses.

finally done with all of these — they're queued!

#long post

[oillampslit]

Footprints 👣 In The Sand

by Mary Stevenson (1922 - 1999)

Footprints in the Sand

One night I had a dream.

I dreamed I was walking along the beach

with the Lord..

Across the sky flashed scenes from my life..

For each scene, I noticed two sets of

footprints in the sand,

one belonging to me, and the other to the Lord..

When the last scene of my life flashed before me,

I looked back at the footprints in the sand.

I noticed that many times along the path of my life

there was only one set of footprints.

I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest

and saddest times in my life.

This really bothered me

and I questioned the Lord about it:

"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,

you'd walk with me all the way.

But I have noticed that during the most

troublesome times in my life

there is only one set of footprints.

I don't understand why

when I need you most you would leave me."

The Lord replied:

"My precious child, I love you and would

never leave you.

During your times of trial and suffering,

when you see only one set of footprints, it was then

that I carried you."

by Mary Stevenson

#jesusisnotreligion #jesuslovesyou #jesusiscomingsoon #jesusisarelationshipnotareligion #jesusisking #jesusislord #jesussaves #jesuschrist #jesus #oillampslit #footprintsinthesand #marystevenson #poems #poem #poetry

Oillampslit 🪔©

Find us also over on Twitter, Tumblr and YouTube. God Bless!

#keepyouroillampslit #jesus #kjv #jesusiscoming #bibleverse #jesusislord #god #revelation #jesussaves #jesus is coming

[wisteriawritesblog]

Tides of Time

A poem by Willow Bartholomew

i’m stranded alone on the edge of a beach, forever staring into the empty ocean. I lay in the sand and feel the waves of sadness and anxiety gently brush up against my body, soaking into my clothes. The wind kisses my body as I stand, sending a cool shiver through my body. The border of the ocean and the beach stretch on into the horizon as I stare down the infinite path. Without knowing if this is the correct way to go, I begin to walk. I feel cursed to walk this beach forever, but a primal spark of hope inside of me keeps me moving forward, despite my many qualms. As the sun dries my clothes, I continue walking upon the warm sands, turning around to see my trail of footprints stretching behind me, marking my past. Scared, I continue forward. Hours, days, years pass and yet I continue walking. Some days I feel good enough to run. Other days my feet can only carry me but a few yards. I come across another set of footprints, trailing off into the horizon. Memories flood my mind of the day I began my walk. Comparing prints, I see their feet are slightly smaller than my own. Looking around more, I am hit with a familiar scent. This is where I began my journey. I’ve changed quite a lot, and yet this place has remained the same. Despite this time, I still do not know why I walk. I’ve met others along the path, made memories and friendships, and yet I walk with no purpose. Maybe someday I will find a reason. Until then, I shall aimlessly walk among the scorching sand and the tides of time.

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