En el interior y exterior
va y viene en un instante
dentro y fuera, muere y vive
compartirla es emerger
como una chispa es
tan efímera y eterna
tan tangible como intangible
pasado, presente y futuro
la felicidad es
Tony x Reader - Jar of Hearts
WORD OF WARNING!! CONTAINS FEELS!
I know I can't
take one more step
towards you. Cause
all that's waiting
You walked down the streets of Manhatten, and you phone buzzed in your pocket. You were just finishing up your nightly jog.
"Hey babe. <3"
It was Tony.
"Hey! What's up?" You texted back.
"Nothing much. Just doing stupid paperwork that Fury assigned, so I won't be done for a while."
You smirked and texted,
"That sucks. See you in a few. Love ya! <3" You turned off your phone, and jogged to the Tower.
And don't you
know I'm not your
ghost anymore. You
lost the love I
loved the most.
You walked into the Tower, seeing Natasha and Clint cuddling on the couch, watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You smiled at them, and you walked to the elevator.
"Miss, might I suggest you not going to Tony's room?" JARVIS asked. You frowned and asked confused,
I learned to live,
half alive. And now
you want me one more,
time. And who do you
Bucky x Teen!Runaway!Reader Part 2
PLEASE READ THE LAST CHAPTER TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE!!!
"That was about 24 years ago. I was 12. Now I'm 15, almost 16. That man was the only person I trusted in a long time. His name was John, John Keller I think. He was about 21 when we met but the first five months I was with him, he died. I've been running since. No stops, never slept in the same place twice...Then HYRDA came, and offered me a job. I declined. It was the worst mistake of my life. They kidnapped me, tutored me, shoved me, and almost made me go mentally insane. Then, that's when they brain-washed me. They strapped me to a hard, leather chair, and took everything away from me...Even the only memories of my mom. They stuck me into a Cyro Freezer almost 24 years ago. I'll admit, I'm old lady. But I escaped from them. 3 years, two months, and 16 days days I've been away. And I've been slowly getting my memories back. But not in the ways I would have hoped. I get Night Terrors every single night. Not ever a
daughter on the stepstool I count the cracks in between the blocks of cement as I walk, eyes downcast. Sets of two, sets of two. I can never quite shake the way my bones don’t sit right under my skin, too big for my body. It’s a constant itch that I can’t scratch, only mollified when I listen, when I listen to what it tells me. My disease tells me to count in sets of two—blink four times, two sets of two. I don’t understand, but those numbers are safety in a storm. They ruin me, though. They ruin me. I hide behind mathematical equations that account for sets of two, and I leave her to drown.
These are my hands, but they’re really just earthquakes. I am not afraid to crumble anything that gets in my way, and it’s always her. She always tries to stop me, tells me she loves me after calling me fucked up. Fucked up. I lose sleep because sometimes I dream in shades that I do not like. Blue, like her eyes. One syllable, half of a set. A ghost
Amber SunrisesI’m not entirely sure yet. You know, why bad things happen all the time. I’m kind of just here trying to figure all of this out myself. Why suns rise and set, why life comes into this world, and why it always has to end. I sat outside. That darkish blue color was in the sky again. It’s always in the sky. It’s like it never really goes away. And I guess it doesn’t because apparently the blue in the sky is just a reflection of the ocean. I woke up at 6:30am today. And I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I went outside. It was cold outside. The refreshing kind though. It was like a bitter sweet kind of wind and it tussled with the knots in my hair for a little while until they both calmed down and went in their respected directions. There was nobody else outside and it was quiet. I almost fell back asleep until I saw the sun starting to rise. So I climbed up onto the roof to get a better look at this amber fire. I almost fell off but I didn’t (I
fragmenti am cheap and easily bought; i come complete with bruises and the built-in urge to run away.
The Boy I LovedThe boy I loved was not always the boy I loved: there was once a time he was someone else, and there was once a time when he was nothing at all, and there is yet to be a time when he will be nothing again. But he was the boy I loved when I met him and was yet still to love him.
i'm so tired of disappointment
The boy I loved had really sharp collarbones. "I swear," i would think as i lay my head on his chest, "they could cut me right open and i wouldn't mind."
there's no next time, this was the last chance i gave myself
He still may not be the last boy I'll love like this, but the boy I loved wanted forever with me, and i wanted forever with him. I exchanged a lot of promises with the boy I loved. So many that I often thought our pinkie fingers curled into each other instinctively whenever we said we loved each other. The boy I loved was a constant, but it was also the most tumultuous journey my hesitating feet have ever been on.
it isn't good enough
The boy I
TrappedWe were both trapped in a queue of cars, four lanes on the motorway. It was 8am on a Friday and rush hour was creeping forward at a twelfth of the speed that it usually did. People sighed, some moaned, others dipped their hands lazily out of their windows catching the cool morning breeze. We were both there, you and I. My car crept forward almost as if it wasn't moving at all, my eyes focused on the road ahead, concentrating on the car in front - one eye on the van behind. It was one of those roads where the curves dropped away around a bend and into nothing. People craned their necks trying to see what was up ahead, what was keeping everyone back from their mundane mornings at their desks. I didn't want to look. But we were both there, stuck in the queue.
I flicked the radio stations to see if there was a news update, red lights cleared as the crowd inched forward again. Lane one, then two then three merged into four as flashing lights and signs warned them of an obstruction. Brake li
Through a lover's eyesWow, I don't even know where to start... How do you describe someone like that, when words or images alone are simply not enough? She is just the most exquisite bundle of mischief I have ever, and probably will ever meet. Hell, she's a cocky wee git on good days, but even on the bad days she still has this amazing, fierce intelligence that I can only liken to the lightening that illuminates a storm, even if only for a brief moment. And though it does get to me a bit at times, I really do admire the wicked, almost sick sense of humour that appears along with that subtle dimple below the edge of her lips. Nothing has ever completely smothered that little spark; not even when she lay in that hospital bed, barely conscious from the cocktail of drugs she'd attempted to take her own life with. It has got her in trouble a few times; giggling at inappropriate moments, but I would far rather that than watching the light leave her eyes.
It does make me sad; the repeated suicide attempts. I mean,