A First!

As per my first post here at the ‘box and as per my (amended) About page this blog is not just for my warped rantings alone…

Others whose writings i find to be of value will be invited to share their wisdom/work/weirdness here also

IT is not without a certain degree of pride that i present the First Work , and from a fellow Aussie no less!

As a ( portion of) her fine work it speaks for itself – it certainly spoke volumes to me and i hope you will agree.. this lady can really write!

So…. drum roll…….drum-roll-please

here is:

Nothing – Lewis Watson

by breakmelikeapromise

I think there’s something really beautiful in the tone of sad words. I’m not sure if I can really say that I don’t like feeling sad. There’s just something about the way that you can feel so overcome with emotion, so impassioned by your own thoughts and worries and questions, that adds another element to your writing. ‘Sad writing’, as I like to call it, is something that I think everyone can relate to. But where does that leave me? If I enjoy writing about sadness, am I really ever sad at all? How is it possible to find such pleasure in an emotion that is almost always considered negative? But I suppose we could say the exact same thing about love.

An excerpt from something I wrote a little while ago:

‘Come here’, he smiled, opening his arms out in invitation. She moved towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He pulled her in, protectively draping his own arms around her shoulders. Leaning her head against his chest, they just were; there was no other word to describe it. In the middle of the street, their bodies only shadows illuminated by the dim street lamps, they held each other for what seemed like an eternity. She eventually unwrapped herself from around his torso and placed both hands upon his chest. She looked up at him, his face only inches away from hers. She wanted to kiss him so badly, but chastised herself for even considering it. ‘You wouldn’t kiss me’, he dared.
‘You’ll just be an idiot and pull away’, she retorted, ‘Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about the last time we were out here’.
‘No, I won’t’, he whispered.
And with that, she leaned up on her tip toes, and hovered dangerously close to his lips. She continued to lean in, but slowly and cautiously, fully aware that he could easily break the promise he had made just moments earlier. But in that instant, all of her doubts faded as she pressed her lips against his, colliding over and over again. He kissed her slowly and tenderly, as though she were as fragile as a china doll. Sometimes he would stop and look at her, and in those moments her heart threatened to burst free from her chest. She thought for sure that he would be able to hear her heartbeat as it increased to an abnormally fast rate. But his mood shifted and he began kissing her with a savage ferocity, pulling her close against his own body. He was pushing against her, hands holding her at the small of her back and bending her backwards. His mouth worked in short, sharp bursts and he teasingly bit her lower lip. This was the real reason he had come, waited outside her house at four in the morning. Perhaps, on some level, this was the reason she had agreed to meet him. As much as she would hate herself for it later and as much as she would blame him for using her, she knew that deep down, she both wanted and needed this just as much as he did. And that was the worst part; he had pulled down her walls again.

Now That’s the kind of writing makes me want to read more!

This post was rated: A for…


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