It is probably common knowledge that the card Death does not imply that you its picker dies anytime soon in the future. It is also widely known that this card represents the end and the beginning, revival and reborn.
Before any Tarot professionals start terrorizing me, I just want to make a personal point. That is the end of something cannot possibly occur without a certain amount of…death.
Continue reading “The Death Card of the Tarot Deck.”
He was smiling as if he saw the most beautiful creation. I couldn’t help grinning myself; his happiness is contagious. He asked me to pose for him again. “Could you turn your face just a little bit? There!” “The light across your cheeks is just perfect, great angle.” I did. The camera gave a sound similar to a mechanical giggle.
I feel light-headed; his attention is addictive. No one had ever paid this much attention to me because in a world where almost every teenager saw the protagonist when they looked into the mirror every morning, I don’t expect scrutiny. I don’t act for attention, so no one provides me with it. I’m not the daft hero swinging a gleaming sword under a thousand suns. Not the princess who saved herself. Not important enough a character to have a decent family name in the book.
Somehow, he saw something special in me. Special enough to lift his camera and tell me to “look here.” He was like a young fan fiction writer who chose to write a lengthy character review on a minor character for fun. And as a minor character who wondered when would my own story ever started, I felt damn special.
Continue reading “Through the Looking Lens”
He was lying to face me with his head snuggled in my laps. He had been talking and I had been listening for hours. He was my something but I am not even anything to him, I guess. But I liked to hear him talk. I wanted to know what I had in common with him.
“Do you know what it is like to be in love with a city?” he asked, his eyes shining and it was not a trick of the light. He was light himself, despite his dark clothes and messy hair. I ran my hand through the black mess, just to mess it up further the way I liked.
Continue reading “In Love With A City”
This is the post excerpt.
I like to think I’m made of secrets. But I’m also a broken faucet, spilling into the hands of the undeserving. I have the worst timing and usually secrets of myself escape me at night. Continue reading “First of Dark Thoughts”