Her face wasn't anything extraordinary or significant, and yet, he felt somehow magically draw to those serious and silent features. Though she always avoided his gaze, he couldn't help but notice her clean skin and lack of makeup, along with her always messy hairstyles. Perhaps many would consider her homely, but he found her awe-striking.
I know it’s an addiction. Everyone tells me. But it’s to painful to let go of. It’s always there for me when nothing else is. It makes my brain feel happy again. And I feel so bad to just let go because it’s like my best friend. What’s my addiction you ask? Well it’s...
I could love you as no other has, in a way you'll always crave, be the lover of your dreams - just know that I can have my independence too. If I need to walk away, if I ever become less than your romantic love, less than the one you touch with excitement and joy, less than the one who's voice you feel soothed by, the one you long to walk next to, then I will. It feels these days that there are no standards for boyfriends or husbands - anything goes it seems. Not for true lovers though, the poetic kind who love with the soul, for them there are standards. For them there is a bond beyond marriage, beyond mortality, beyond reason. So be my lover for always, be my poem, my heart song, the one I long to touch and keep safe. The one believes in standing together, protecting each other, in the real meaning of love, accepting the costs.
His eyes were hues of the forest, surrounded with dark moss. It was the kind of earthy green that revives the grass after a cruel, unforgiving winter. Interwoven shades hiding the chaotic nature behind. Never before have eyes held such danger and beauty all at once. He was a wild fire: reckless, untamed, yet undeniably captivating.
The fashion designer had one of those perfect souls, both fully childish and fully adult all at the same time. You could see it in the way her eyes moved, how her hands embraced the fabric, and I believe you could sense how the fabric of the universe embraced her in response.
Until there is equity of access to resources necessary for a comfortable and happy standard of living that respects the sanctity and rights of each person of our planet, we cannot say that we have truly learnt the lessons of all black lives matter. And in so doing, in lifting up all the poor of every ethnicity, in the giving of dignity, in the acknowledgement of their full humanity, there are the seeds of world peace. Love is always our answer. Not the soppy kind of love though. Not that. But the "I'd give my life for yours" kind of love. And that, my friends, isn't the ceiling, it's the minimum requirement.
A derelict house stood before me, repugnant and mouldy. Only fear anchored my feet in the darkness. An immense storm could be heard in the distance, echoing through the silent night. Lighting ripped the inky sky. The silver hues of clouds became as molten silver, swirling, ripples radiating. I crept to the paint-crumbling door amid low struggling trees.
I twisted the handle of the door, it creaked, the sound becoming whispers that filled the room, urging me to run lest I end up as lost and lonely as they. One moment I was outside, the next I was within, despite never taking a step. The door slammed. There was no exit. The floorboards moaned with age. Suddenly something tugged at me, something with a icy grip...
Blind from birth, the spring was all about the sounds, the tastes and the rising air temperature for Mila. With keen awareness of the frigidity of winter rain, she knew before her keen sighted friends when the winter season was in transition. She felt the breeze kiss her more warmly and let her hands explore the overhanging branches of neighbourhood trees to find the swelling buds- buds that would soon crack open to release the soft papery leaves within.The myriad of verdant hues from the grass to the leaves above were lost to her; but their gentle fragrance never was. She would take a new lush blade or leaf and rub it between her fingers, releasing its perfume. She knew the flowers of her neighbourhood by their scents, either that which they released to the damp air or by crushing a petal to release the aromatic sap. She knew the call of each bird species and marked the progress of the season with their song.
All black lives matter, all around the globe. It matters that people have clean water. It matters that people have assured access to nutritional food. It matters that people have access to medicines and vaccines. It matters that there is space in daily living for joy, for artistic expression, for cultural vibrancy and bonding with others. All of this is vital if humanity is to survive into a sustainable future of peace. And for that to happen we will need to bring all of our creativity and ingenuity to the table, remove barriers, expand the frontiers of the possible with technology - and make a great future that works for all of creation.