ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
i. Boy meets girl.
{and it's not love but it isn't science either, it's cicada song alchemy at a summer storm epicentre. It's skirls of brittle-bright hummingbird laughter; it's midnight fairground phosphorescence and ether-flavoured ferris-wheel thrills.}
ii. He obviously worships her, and she's got it just as bad.
{and maybe that's true, but it's so much more than their condescending venus flytrap smiles will ever understand. It's solstice prayers by touch and unsanctioned bareskin baptisms in lakes of ink and glowflies.}
iii. It's like they can read each other's minds.
{it's not like that at all. She reads riptide chronicles in the lines on his palms and he sees cautionary shipwrecks tangled in her hair, but it isn't caravan clairvoyance, it's elemental alignment and maybe (just maybe) a beguiling whisper of long-lost Atlantean magic.}
iv. They'll both come to nothing, you see if they don't.
{but won't we all, in the end? Anyone can see they were promised to the sky years ago. They're lost in petrol-scented breaths and diaphanous spidersilk skin, what-if whispers and conflagration double dares, hand-in-hand while the world burns down.}
v. They're no good for each other.
{you've got it all wrong; it's the world they aren't good for. It's the exchange of jackal smiles over a struggling moth's frantic, tattered wings, it's the firelight glimmer on their bared teeth, it's the blazing-burning joy.}
vi. We can't make them listen.
{it's hard to listen when you're being blinded by apricot sequin streetlights and dragonfly-winged afterdark ephemera. Careful-you-don't-lose-your-head-now-darling pales away against a spectrum horizon and grass-stained hearts and lockpick secret-tellings.}
vii. You'd almost think they know they haven't got forever.
{Maybe they do know, but they've got time enough to watch jellyfish melt helplessly away into the sand under a vengeful sun, then conduct solemn sandcastle funeral masses with seagull requiems cauterising the air.}
viii. It's not love, but it isn't science either.
{Darling, this is what they call phenomenatrics.}
{and it's not love but it isn't science either, it's cicada song alchemy at a summer storm epicentre. It's skirls of brittle-bright hummingbird laughter; it's midnight fairground phosphorescence and ether-flavoured ferris-wheel thrills.}
ii. He obviously worships her, and she's got it just as bad.
{and maybe that's true, but it's so much more than their condescending venus flytrap smiles will ever understand. It's solstice prayers by touch and unsanctioned bareskin baptisms in lakes of ink and glowflies.}
iii. It's like they can read each other's minds.
{it's not like that at all. She reads riptide chronicles in the lines on his palms and he sees cautionary shipwrecks tangled in her hair, but it isn't caravan clairvoyance, it's elemental alignment and maybe (just maybe) a beguiling whisper of long-lost Atlantean magic.}
iv. They'll both come to nothing, you see if they don't.
{but won't we all, in the end? Anyone can see they were promised to the sky years ago. They're lost in petrol-scented breaths and diaphanous spidersilk skin, what-if whispers and conflagration double dares, hand-in-hand while the world burns down.}
v. They're no good for each other.
{you've got it all wrong; it's the world they aren't good for. It's the exchange of jackal smiles over a struggling moth's frantic, tattered wings, it's the firelight glimmer on their bared teeth, it's the blazing-burning joy.}
vi. We can't make them listen.
{it's hard to listen when you're being blinded by apricot sequin streetlights and dragonfly-winged afterdark ephemera. Careful-you-don't-lose-your-head-now-darling pales away against a spectrum horizon and grass-stained hearts and lockpick secret-tellings.}
vii. You'd almost think they know they haven't got forever.
{Maybe they do know, but they've got time enough to watch jellyfish melt helplessly away into the sand under a vengeful sun, then conduct solemn sandcastle funeral masses with seagull requiems cauterising the air.}
viii. It's not love, but it isn't science either.
{Darling, this is what they call phenomenatrics.}
Literature
starcrossed
and we sailed
in sinking ships
on borrowed tides
'neath starless skies
[i wonder, love,
why we never made it home.]
Literature
kaleidoscope.
Even though it is said that the human eye can see about 16.8 million different colors, we're all pretty much color blind in the end.
Today, I am blue, and you are red; today the fear begins again.
The sky is a milky white and your eyes are an empty grey, but you somehow still manage a smile: this is the first thing I notice. The second is that your shoes are untied, then that your gaze seems unfocused, then that your hair is a disaster, then that your voice sounds like rain – and I hate rain.
You catch my stare.
I turn away because I am afraid.
You are uncertainty and unpredictability, and for this, I hate you; the unexpected is a d
Literature
justify.
you apologize
but all you're guilty of is
hanging the jury
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
Theatrics + phenomena = phenomenatrics.
Obviously.
It's meant to be too much. It's meant to stumble over itself in the first part.
My goodbye to summer <3
Any thoughts?
Obviously.
It's meant to be too much. It's meant to stumble over itself in the first part.
My goodbye to summer <3
Any thoughts?
© 2010 - 2024 toxic-scheherazade
Comments57
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
But it's not too much. Not when you're in the mood, anyway -- it's a head-rush and it's a dreamer's delight almost close enough to touch; that vein of ... fatedness, I'll call it, is terrible but devil-may-care, really, because some things are just too beautiful to let go of for little, dwindling things like that.
I'm not making sense, I know I'm not, but this is breathless and kaleidoscopic and just utterly, heart-swellingly lovely even when you're reading it for the fifteenth time.
I'm not making sense, I know I'm not, but this is breathless and kaleidoscopic and just utterly, heart-swellingly lovely even when you're reading it for the fifteenth time.