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Literature Text
The feminine form is an aesthetic playground.
Every artistic style in the world has attempted to capture that mysterious something, that oddly sensational way a body can make us feel. At first the word "curves" come to mind and yes, there is a reason those are so visually appealing to us; you can see the subtle hourglass mimicked by letterhead designers, guitar and violin luthiers, furniture craftsmen. To me, the hourglass isn't what causes the racing heart and blushing cheeks. The curves that have the most effect are in the arch of the foot, the sloping line where the two lips meet, the definition of the calf muscle.
But there's so much more to femininity than curves.
Elongated eyelashes are said to imply modesty, but I get the feeling it's just a safety measure. Eyes are expressive explosions of colour, emotion, watery insights - although fascinating, far too much for a person to take at any one time. Best to lower the eyelids and let you wonder just what is about to spill forth.
Even music has followed her cadence. The red lips of an intro, smiling or frowning, give you a lingering first impression that can't be shaken even after the notes trail down her neck and freckle her shoulders in the expansion to the full orchestra, louder and more blunt, building suspense until you finally reach the chorus. Her shyest symphonies are modest and secretive lullabies, with periodic violent outbursts of purgatory.
I've attempted every adjective I know, every metaphor and impressive addition to my vocabulary, but no word has ever made me melt with the force and power of a simple "she."
Every artistic style in the world has attempted to capture that mysterious something, that oddly sensational way a body can make us feel. At first the word "curves" come to mind and yes, there is a reason those are so visually appealing to us; you can see the subtle hourglass mimicked by letterhead designers, guitar and violin luthiers, furniture craftsmen. To me, the hourglass isn't what causes the racing heart and blushing cheeks. The curves that have the most effect are in the arch of the foot, the sloping line where the two lips meet, the definition of the calf muscle.
But there's so much more to femininity than curves.
Elongated eyelashes are said to imply modesty, but I get the feeling it's just a safety measure. Eyes are expressive explosions of colour, emotion, watery insights - although fascinating, far too much for a person to take at any one time. Best to lower the eyelids and let you wonder just what is about to spill forth.
Even music has followed her cadence. The red lips of an intro, smiling or frowning, give you a lingering first impression that can't be shaken even after the notes trail down her neck and freckle her shoulders in the expansion to the full orchestra, louder and more blunt, building suspense until you finally reach the chorus. Her shyest symphonies are modest and secretive lullabies, with periodic violent outbursts of purgatory.
I've attempted every adjective I know, every metaphor and impressive addition to my vocabulary, but no word has ever made me melt with the force and power of a simple "she."
Literature
Prologe
Thump thump
The town, Aegron, had been destroyed, Katrina knew this, had seen it. The Sekers had come and wiped it out, it happened sometimes, a way of life. The survivors would pack up and move to another town or they would wait for the brothers of Ammit to come and rescue them. This time Katrina new that no survivors would leave this place. Glancing toward the huge wardrobe where her two children had locked themselves, Katrina firmly told her self that someone would walk away, her babies would survive and go on to the next town.
Thump thump
Katrina's husband walked into the bedroom closing and locking a thick door behind him. In his hand
Literature
Once Again: Part Three
The Doctor looked at his old companion. Her blonde hair glowed from the light inside the room and her blue eyes stared at him, concentrating.
"I don't know." he replied back. "I don't know."
Rose sighed and turned her head, looking at the wall. She saw pictures of her and John, happily together, living a life that she didn't want. She heard the Doctor clear his throat.
"Maybe I should tell you what happened...to me?" he said, more of a question than a statement.
Rose blinked, but didn't say anything.
The Doctor sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and began.
"In the proper universe-" he stopped. "The other one, the one you were born i
Literature
november14th.
i never had an actual birthday where i could sit back and reflect on what the world has given me thus far. i've never had the teenager-themed "surprise parties" and the traditional gift-giving, pinata-hitting, pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey slash spinthebottle games that dash away reality for the given special day. sunsets and silhouette dreams that smash reality into confetti and funfetti-half ass made birthday cake with the number of ages presented into falling-apart icing. i never understood why society would celebrate a passing year when ultimately the person is getting closer to growing into obligations of responsibilities.
but for mothers
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Just an exercise in description, really. I know I don't practice prose enough.
I didn't see a "Free-Writing" category.
It's so difficult to consider myself a woman. Whenever I think of one, I feel like nothing more than an awe-struck onlooker. Probably because I'm not quite there yet. :]
I didn't see a "Free-Writing" category.
It's so difficult to consider myself a woman. Whenever I think of one, I feel like nothing more than an awe-struck onlooker. Probably because I'm not quite there yet. :]
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beautiful