Dawn
He believes in their God, but denies the existence of artsoul. In that, the emptiness of love shall never be seen by him until the day he starts to believe in the realm of artsoul. He is engrossed in Cliché, who is an envoy of love. Soon after he was born into this world, Cliché instilled in him that in order to find love, he has to find Dr. Right to baptize his being. Just like this, he traveled through his whole life to find this opposing energy force to complete themselves.
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Revision II
Return She has eyesights of deep-sea fish, almost completely blind. She lay in the center of the hall, like a lifeless corpse. The calacatta tile floor is like an icy serenade to her, only makes the fire burn within. She quietly flows under the thinnest of ice, awaiting the gentle touch of sun. She rolls her head to where he’s at. He stands in the corner, awkwardly. His upper lip twitches a little when he tries to squeeze a V. Her eyes are like broken mirrors to him, the fragments of vanished memories reappear into his mind and reflect back onto the glasses he’s wearing, etches of those blurry, untold stories. He flusters, and eyes averts immediately, the blank white wall clears his face to its usual vacant and staring. The Completion The girl sits next to the mannequin to recite a letter that she writes for the large plastic figure. The completion. She wants the mannequin to feel how she feels and what she sees in it. Writing exercises:
Third Person Present - Philosophical - who is the narrator? Flesh tatters into pieces as it is on the way to completion. Each temporary union with Mr. Wrong tears a part of their being, yet they still don’t know why. Soul is just another word to them. First Person Past - Close I tattered into pieces as I was on the way to completion. Each temporary union with Mr. Wrong tore a part of my being, yet I still don’t know why. Soul is just another word to me. Second Person Past - Detached You tattered into pieces as you were on your way to completion. Each temporary union with Mr. Wrong tore a part of you being, yet you still don’t know why. Soul is just another word to you. Her third date with him happens around Christmas. Her favorite time of the year to get lost in New York city. Winter seems to her such a genderless time. It is impossible to tell little boys from little girls underneath their heavy coats and wrapt in colorless hats and scarfs. It makes her look at people in their all-consuming parkas and wonder, what if there’s no such thing as men and women?
“As a gentleman,” he intercepts her glance, “I should drive you home.” They approach his parked Toyota on the street somewhere in Astoria, Queens. |
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