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Away"He was the type who spent his life taking for granted all of the things that weren't his to own." This was the opening line to my narrative. This was the opening line to the narrative for his life, the boy who I loved, the boy who not only loved me, but loved everybody, even the bad ones who didn't (in my eyes) deserve it. He was a wholeheartedly selfless boy. And though he never made it to his eighteenth birthday, his maturity, I believe, far surpassed that of most adults. For as young as he was at death... It wasn't about years, though. But it was just wrong that he was taken from us at such a young age. I don't mean to imply tAway
by ~Lesprit-Descalier
HeavenThe angel twirled and whirled playfully along the solid ice pathway, gliding gracefully but yet not, but at the same time, even in those occasions when she slid too far for her liking, she picked herself up, and regained her balance and poise in a manner that would make anyone jealous. Myself, I was jealous, though I would likely be the last to admit that I was jealous, she wasn't mine to hold, she wasn't mine to have, she wasn't mine to be with forever. I was always the one left second-best in the race, I was second to my beautiful angel, second to my best friend. He would claim to be my best friend, of course, only when it suited him. "TheyHeaven
by ~Lesprit-Descalier
BreakAnd it was in those days, those days in which I needed him most, that I would most often be on-edge with nervousness. Those days when I would sit up all hours of the night, just wishing for my cell phone to ring, and those familiar, beautiful digits to show up on the caller ID. And during those days, he knew it as well as I did, that I was alone no matter how large my family was, and when my younger brothers couldn't leave me alone, I was still alone with them next to me. It was during those days, and those nights, that I learned what it was truly like to be alone. As a child, I had imagined I knew the definition of the word, but as I was nowBreak
by ~Lesprit-Descalier
RotThe first thing that flooded his senses was the overbearing pungent smell of rotting flesh. Possibly rotting human flesh, just as likely as if it were any other kind of flesh, with one's eyes tightly shut, there was no telling. The only way to tell for sure was to look around, and that meant accepting this minute probability that it could, indeed, be human flesh. That was worse than just laying still, and waiting for it to go away(as "likely" as that was, of course). There was never a level-headed human in existence who liked to see their own brethren dead, and discovering that they were dead in the large number that would be required to raisRot
by ~Lesprit-Descalier
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When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.
- Jimi Hendrix
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When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.
- Jimi Hendrix
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