youngadult

I'm going home." - Celeste"To never return?" - Uway"Yes, show me the way to never return." - CelesteALL LIGHT WILL FALL

I'm 20 years old. I spend my days in a dictionary and half my mind in Fantasy.

Writing's much more romantic when its pen and ink and paper. It's... More timeless. and worthwhile. Think about it. There are so many words gushing out into the universe these days. All digitally. All in Comic Sans or Times New Roman. Silly Websites. Stupid news stories digitally uploaded to a 24-hour channel. Where's all this writing going? Who's keeping a note of it all? Who's in charge of deciding what's worthwhile and what isn't? But back then... Back then, if someone wanted to write something they had to buy paper. Buy it! And ink. And a pen. And they couldn't waste too many sheets cos it was expensive. So when people wrote, they wrote because it was worthwhile... not just because they had some half-baked idea and they wanted to pointlessly prove their existence by sharing it on some bloody social networking site.

When I try to achieve greatness, it spits on me the night before.

Some thought magic came from the mind, others the soul, or the heart, or the will.

What had those vile creatures unleashed in me? What beast had they awakened? I think I vowed to kill the beast and bury it so deep in the abyss it would never again rear its ugly head. Part of me did make this promise. The other part embraced an unfolding of life__ inextinguishable flames and the mind__ unspoken bondage.As far as reinforcing the strength of my mind__ resolve, I supposed my body was a useless entity. Rather, it was this fancy thing I lived in__ mausoleum that beckoned the living, promising gratification, refuge, solace, peace, even immortality. It wasn__ me. It wasn__ mine. I realized then, it had never belonged to me. I could control what happened to it only if people were merciful. Watching Valentin was not merciful. It was a torturous joy.

In books, sometimes the foreshadowing is so obvious that you know what__ going to happen. But knowing what happens isn__ the same as knowing how it happens. Getting there is the best part.

The lights flickered, the pain went away, and her mother was holding her, singing __leep sweet sleep_. (The Children of Ankh series) Kim Cormack

That's something I've always fond odd, people smile when they're sad. There's no such thing as a sad smile.

In the woods lay a bleeding angel in all her glory. Her arms posed gracefully above her head and her hair soaked in the mud, the blood and feces in which she lay. Dying, fading into the other realm, her form christened by the rain as though the trees had begun to weep upon her in sadness for the brutality she had endured. (The Children of Ankh series)