corner-with-love

I have been waiting
for more than a year,
counting the days go by
without a thought of goodbye.
The seasons may have changed,
the leaves may have withered
and the flowers bloomed once more,
but love, I will continue to wait.
The oceans nor the thousands of
“I wish you’re here.”
or hundreds of
“I miss you.”
will never be a reason
for this love to cease.
It is just a matter of numbers,
distance, days, weeks, months,
phone calls, messages.
I am here
and
you are there.
But our love is greater
than the kilometers between us.
—  2,355 kilometers away | mediwriter
FrUk-ing Elevator

Francis heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that the elevator was empty. The meeting seemed to have dragged on and he wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl in to bed. He was tired, ignoring Arthur took all his energy. His nights were plagued with the Englishman, whispering to him, fingers lightly touching his neck, brushing the hair from his brow, trailing down his face… He dreamed of a world where he could curl his hands around Arthur’s tie and pull him in to a feverish kiss. He wondered what Arthur would feel like against him, what he would taste like. Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime, he would breath in to the kiss. T'es l'amour de ma vie.


Just as the doors were sliding shut, a hand shot in between them, springing them open again.


Arthur slid in to the elevator, nodding at Francis in acknowledgment. He straightened his sport coat with a forceful tug. Non, non, non. This can not be happening.


As soon as the elevator started to move, Arthur turned to face Francis and stepped closer to him, reaching out to finger the hem of the Frenchman’s suit jacket. He cocked his head and smirked up at Francis, continuing to close the gap between the two men.


“What…?” Francis choked, startled. He took a step back only to have Arthur step with him until Francis’ back was firmly up against the wall of the elevator. The fingers on the hem of Francis’ jacket moved to walk up his abdomen, chest, then skirt up his neck, and finally came to rest just under his jaw. His other hand pushed into Francis’ chest, further pinning him. And, mon dieu, Arthur’s knee slid between his legs.


Arthur tilted Francis’ head up, exposing his neck and he leaned in. Francis swallowed hard, biting his lips together for fear his heart would jump out of his chest, up his throat, and right out of his mouth. He could practically feel Arthur smirking, his blood in a battle over which direction it should flow: to deepen the blush rising in his cheeks, or…


Arthur tapped his fingers on Francis’ chin and danced up his face and into the Frenchman’s hair, probing until it found the ribbon that tied his hair back. Francis felt it tug and give, his hair falling free.


And then the elevator stopped moving, Arthur pushed himself away from Francis, dangling his ribbon in front of his cocky smile. The doors opened and Arthur adjusted his coat, pocketing the ribbon, and calmly exited.


Francis clutched at his chest, his heart racing. He stood for a moment unable to quite process what had just happened. He continued to stand in shock as the elevator doors closed, leaving him in silent solitude.

My treasures ୧(* ಡ  w ಡ *)୨

Now I understand why they, too, were heartbroken when things fell apart between us.

We painted the sky with a hue of red that spoke about the depth of passion and love we shared. But our hands, covered in blue, wrote poems where the sun left and where our bed suddenly became too big until our world grew in shades of coldness.

We were an epitome of what falling in love meant without any hurt or ache in the process. There were no scars, no bruises, no broken promises. Just cups of coffee left on the table to go cold and unwanted.

You called me a masterpiece with the way I’d let the gentleness of my words seep through the cracks of my skin. I called you my beautiful muse with the way you nuzzle your nose on my cheek while the sun kissed us good morning.

Our love was an epiphany of tomorrows spent on holding each others hand and loving each other when we both can’t seem to love ourselves. The love we shared hummed beautiful songs to the beat of our hearts and boy, yours was the lullaby that lulled me to a peaceful sleep.

We put the stars to shame and the moon to envy but the ocean was far too wide until my sun became your moon and your moon became my sun. We were love in a mismatched place. We were love with oceans apart. We were love but just like the sun and moon, we were not meant to be on the same sky.

—  used to be | mediwriter
Wipe that stupid smile off your face and kiss me

Sometimes I…
Get lost in your words and all the things you say,
The way you effortless breathe life into existence.
Sometimes I…
Wander too deep into your eyes,
Drown in galaxies created to encapsulate travellers like me.
Sometimes I…
Venture too far along your body,
Hugging tightly to its curves and furrows,
It’s porcelain white its cashmere soft.
Sometimes I…
Sometimes I forget I get so lost in you.
That I’ll stand here smiling like an idiot.
Who just found out you’ve been perfect a lot longer than he knew.

shousyu asked:

What is your opinion about d.o??

When I first discovered the curse that was EXO, I had no feelings toward Kyungsoo. I didn’t even notice him. All these other boys were up in my face with their massive personalities, that I never saw Kyungsoo creeping in the corner. Now, I fucking love him. It doesn’t matter that he’s basically four feet tall, the Soo don’t take no shit from nobody. Haha. He’s so talented, but extremely hard-working and he really could care less if anyone likes him or not. Except Kai. Obviously. :) Out of all the boys, Kyungsoo and Kris’ personalities are my favorite. But I think D.O has the best creeper face. Ever.

5

I’m obsessive
compulsive and sometimes I call
you when I’m far from sober 

only to hang up before you get the chance to answer
before the sound of your gentle ‘hello’ crushes my ribs. 
Yes, I’m the serial pranker.

Do you think we’ll find our way back to each other?
Because I’m exhausted from trying to find you in other people
I’m sure they’re hurting too

from all the holes I’ve dug through
them, looking for the softness of your lips
Looking for you.

—  Fruitless expeditions. [P.K. 12/04/15]

imagine a ten-year-old version of yourself sitting opposite of you right now.

tell this little boy/girl that they are worthless and mean absolutely nothing.

tell them they are an embarrassment and they don’t deserve to live.

tell them that they’re not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough.

tell them to just give up.

could you say that?

no.

you can’t.

now realize this is essentially what you tell yourself every single day.

now what would you really say to this kid?

that they’re worth it, right?

that they are incredible and never let anyone tell them otherwise..

they are good enough, smart enough, pretty enough.

they should be proud of who they are and all that they’ve accomplished.

you would tell them to stay strong through all circumstances.

that they are loved.

now say this to yourself.

everyday.

replace the bad with the good.

repeat it.

believe it.

understand it.

How many ways do you think we can make love? 

Because I’m pretty sure we’ve made love in ways that I never imagined possible. 

Like listening to each other’s bodies maintain existence.  I never thought I could love the way one person breathes. 

Yet here I am, laying in a lonely bed at 2am completely submitted to the functioning of your lungs.
—  Call me again tonight. [P.K. 19/04/2015]
‘What are you so afraid of?’
He asks,
and the words catch in my throat
because
I am afraid of how he looks at me,
and how that makes me feel 
like my insides are
a meadow of butterflies and wildflowers,
and
I am afraid that if I tell him,
it will kill the meadow,
and the butterflies will disappear
and all the wildflowers will die
because
meadows thrive so much better
in secret.
—  Nikita Gill