ghotilit's Journal

Never again will I hear your voice. Never again will I feel the touch of your hand on my cheek, our legs intertwining in the first light of morning.

I rushed up to you, so many times, watching you watching me, your lip curling slightly, and the smoke from you cigarette rising to the sky.

It is not true; I can still feel you, your hair wispering at my throat in a soft breeze.

I love you.

Chapter 3
In which our heroine introduces characters.

Usual
It's about wordcount. It's about productivity. It's about increasing everythig to bursting point, just in case I accidentally fail. Just in case I slip.

This is normal for me, I try so hard I fall over my own feet. This is how I live, but I wish I could change. Will you give me your normality?

Current Mood: comme ci comme ca

5 hours to go!
I'm starting to get excited. I should type up my crayon-on-envelope plans/notes so they're to hand.

Wish me luck!

Current Mood: excited

Cross
Never again would so many people owe so much to so few?

That's nonsense, and yoou know it. Every day, people take up their burdens amd make the world a better place. Every one of us makes a difference, and it's no use pretending otherwise.

Current Mood: annoyed

Roll
Another day, another dollar, that's what they say.

You're born happy and roll along gathering all the debris and dirt along the way. The days pass and nothing changes, just a build up of experience, for better or for worse.

Current Mood: comme ci, comme ca

Ghost stories anyone?
Interested in writing a NaNoWriMo warm-up (or stand alone) ghost story beofre Halloween? Then get yourself over to

pennydreadfuls.

Wrinkle
A slight furrow of the brow was all the sign she gave that she understood the situation. Understood is perhhaps the wrong word; appreciated would be better. Just a wrinkle in the true and best course of events, it would be smoothed over easily,

Embroidery
Words like butterflies float across my mind. I try to clear them and concentrate on the pattern, but the thread twists and snaps. One day perhaps I shall make works of art with these, but for now, my embroidery is littered with knots and false starts.

Cult.
Inspiration falling from above is like snowdrops, soft and fresh. It is not invasive, pervasive. It does not twist or corrupt.

Why then these cultish nightmares? Why the forgotten terrors of the night made crystal clear within the lives of men?

NaNoWriMo
I've decided I will attempt it this year, and if I succeed, I'll buy myself a new dress for the work dinner. This neatly helps decide whether I can justify a new outfit for that, too, you see :)

cjwatson is entirely supportive, bless him, to the extent of offering a laptop up, so I don't have to work on the horrible monitor of horribleness that belongs to whiting. (We'll get her a new monitor at some point, promise!)

Slick
Soft and smooth, so easily sliding. Moving so cutting. Other people's hopes and ambitiongs mean nothing, less than silk torn and floating in the wind.

No past, no future, merely a present feeling of movement, not to or from, but through.

Current Mood: selfish

Her heart skiopped a beat. He was so close, and the music so loud. Lost in wonder, love and the movement became pure joy. Automatic as the fall of blossom, a faint breeze. It feels like it will never end.

Meanwhile
There is a world out there, turning. There is blue sky and the promise of spring. Someone laughs, a long way off; somewhere, a baby cries. It seems so hardto remember, but out there, the world goes on, one heartbeat at a time, the world goes on.

It is enough.

Outside
Step outside for a moment. Feel the sun shining on your cheek; no matter that you are naked, the soft breeze is all the clothing you need. Feel the dew on the grass and the birdsong caressing you.

Tomorrow is another day, for now, be at peace

Current Mood: Loved

Flicker
Just a brief moment, I could hardly tell whether it was amusement or embarrasment. I suppose I do put my emotions out there for the world to see.

Raw, black on white.

Intimate, personal moments turned into some sort of 'art'.

It is despicable; it is necessary. I'm sorry, my love.

Current Mood: angrysorryinsufficientloving

He said "I miss you"and she said "I missyou too".

Holding the briefest of candles to the dull ever-present ache of parting, a mere whisper compared to the roaringhole left by the other's absence

"I'll see you soon": but somehow, tey knew it could never be the same.

Duty
That's all there is, at the end of theday. You can do your best, or you can go your own seet way and suffer accordingly. You can try to make the world a better place, or you can sink us all furhter into a mire of hedonistic hell. Because, you know, that's how it goes. Don't you care? Then do your duty.

Pages
Pages, so many of them. All empty, awaiting my inspiration. If only there were some secret clue, a title, a beginning. I write
numbers on the bottom, but get carried away and am daunted by the sheer size of the task I have set myself. Why must
they sit there, staring blankly, accusing?

Current Mood: uninspired

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