document your thoughts

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document your thoughts

running down the upper floor

make them all immortal


Photo by Josh Sorenson from Pexels

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❝The Shadows Are Her Spotlight❞

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She dances to the songs Of birds and trees. Not caring where her feet fall, Not caring who watches her, Not caring if she's being mocked. She dances in the shadows As the darkness holds her captive; The shadows are her spotlight. Her footsteps fall  On scattered dust. When the little black birds Will fly back to their homes By broken window ledges and vents, The cool breeze will blow the dust Into nothingness, Where her rhythm will lie forgotten. The dying roots of the trees  And the little cooing fledglings Won't remember her tomorrow. I don't know how she does it But when she dances, She dances like there's no tomorrow, Like she's frozen in her own Happily ever after. Photo by  Anthony Shkraba  from  Pexels
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apathy.

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Today, the lake has frozen over, And the raucous, murky serpent swirls Beneath the still water. A state of sedation. Every movement, a slice into the unknown. The lurching device desperately pumps, But the great many sheets of ice lay unresponsive, Like an unimpressed lover, Or a website with no internet. Oh, to restore the connection, To redraw the lines between the self and the other, To grace the nurturing coast once again. Photo by  riciardus  from  Pexels
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Childe's First Time

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The waxing crescent hangs low over Liyue. The streets are illuminated by fire lanterns, casting a soft glow on the stone path. Zhongli and Childe stand outside the entrance of Liuli Pavilion, their stomachs and hearts warm with the wholesome food and enriching conversation. They’ve been doing this for weeks now, long enough to know that this is where they part ways. Tomorrow will bring another sun, and they will begin another day, bound by their respective duties and contracts. But at this moment, as they gaze at each other, with the cool night breeze running her fingers through their hair, they can pretend that this is eternity. A capsule of eternity in their hands, a spell broken only when one of them reaches forward to kiss the other goodnight.  Yet tonight, Childe doesn’t want to let Zhongli go. Maybe it’s an effect of the way his eyes shone as he spoke about the ingredients and history of the Slow Cooked Bamboo Shoot Soup they ordered tonight. Or maybe it is the sleek black-an...
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