Benedict C.–in any role–in that deliciously breathless moment before the Kiss

reblog if you agree

My body
takes up twice as much space
as my ideas
It is an entire page
with a single spindly line
of second rate poetry
scribbled across the top
like a question
it is vast and blank and
a waste
I do not deserve half the room I am given
to simply exist
without adding anything of substance
to this glowing growing world
I occupy so ungratefully
and I have abandoned any hope
of filling up this endless canvas
           after all it is always easier
           to shrink
           this is not a new concept
           never has been
           I simply hope I can manage
           to condense
          without withering
—  A.O.A.M. || I Am a Gas Giant in a Universe of Stars

The Pilot

I sit and watch the planes take off every Sunday
The prettiest one has bright yellow paint
I like the way it looks in the sky
A shooting star absent of night
A thought so nice, we adore birds so much that we copied their flight
A thought so nice, that excessive joy can make us cry
And a light too bright births water to our eyes
Oh what a beautifully chaotic life
My dear there’s no need to be scared to die
Happiness is found once you conquer fear of heights
Who says you can’t paint your light bright yellow,
No ones stopping you from trying
Everyone has their right to brush the colors of their mind upon the endless canvas in the sky
But if you never jump,
If you never test your luck,
You’ll never know how truly lovely it feels to fly

Please don’t miss out on the beauty you could become
Please don’t forget to live before you die.

Double Whammy

The sun was painting the sky a mesmerising mix of pinks and oranges; clouds splattered sparsely across the endless canvas. It cast a warm hue across his face, coating his freckles in a soft light and adding a beautiful glint to his azure-coloured eyes. The pair of you were sat on the hard camp ground floor, facing each other, unaware of the ache that would soon take a toll on your lower halves. The other three were spread across the area. Ignis was seated, staring intently at the small fire in the centre of the clearing, while both Gladio and Noctis were inside the tent, most likely playing King’s Knight together. The occasional hearty laughs and yells confirmed your beliefs. However, they all seemed to pay the two of you no mind. The day had been long and filed with less than savoury characters and, after a particularly serious incident involving unsheathed weapons and curse words thrown around, they all understood, in their own quiet ways, that the lovers needed some time together.

  A melodic humming brought you back to the present, a soft smile playing at his lips as he fiddled with your fingers. The warmth of his skin sent pulses of heat around your body, keeping the cold of the oncoming night from enveloping you. It made a content smile grace your features as you watched him, soon noticing the little details about him: the strand of golden hair that had moved to his forehead, the wonky smile that seemed ever present on his face. He looked up, an eyebrow raised in question.

  “What are you beaming about, cutie?” His voice had a playful edge; his eyes twinkled in their usual, excitable way. Holding the grin, you laced your fingers through his, leaving only enough space for you to trace patterns on his palm with your thumb.

  With a somewhat sheepish shake of your head, you replied with “Nothing of importance, Prompto.”. Your answer wasn’t enough, made evident by his whine and pout. His hand squeezed yours tightly, almost like he was trying to force a response from you that way. An exhale escaped through your nose as you laughed softly, eyes rolling. “Fine. You have a cute strand of hair that’s gone wild. Reminds me of you, in a way.” Your tongue  poked out at him and he let out a boyish laugh. He released one of your hands to brush his canary-coloured hair backwards, ruining his gelled style further. Well, after rolling around in dirt for most of the day, it wasn’t like his hair was going to get any tidier anyway.

  “That sounds like a fake answer and a reason to make fun of my hair. A double whammy, huh? I feel betrayed.” Prompto feigned hurt, holding both his hand and yours to his heart, like he’d just been shot. Your lips pursed, trying to hold in a childish giggle, but his continued acting– made extra stupid by the dying noises he was making– forced it to bubble up from you, echoing through the wilderness and making more than a few birds squawk in terror and fly from the evergreen trees they had previously been peacefully perched on. With that, the blonde stopped with his antics and straightened again, glad– evident by the way his lips pulled upwards lopsidedly– that he’d heard your song-like laugh again today.

  However, behind the bliss in his blue eyes, worry resided. “Now, what was really on your mind?” He persisted, eyebrow raised again and his hands squeezing yours in reassurance, as if to say ‘you can tell me anything’. A soft smile stayed put on your features; your gaze burrowed itself into the material of his jeans. Silence filled the clearing for a few moments.

  “You,” After plucking up enough confidence, your eyes met his, filled with a look of mixed adoration and thankfulness, “You really do love me, don’t you?” Confusion etched into the freckled boy’s face. His head tilted ever so slightly– golden hair flopping to the side. You continued; he obviously needed more of an explanation, “Today, when that soldier threatened us, your sight never left me. You were concerned. You didn’t want to see me get hurt by his words– nor his sword, for that matter. No one’s ever worried like that for me before. I… appreciate it, Prompto. I really do.” Your arms, almost like an instinct, wrapped around his torso and you allowed your body to rest against his. His face nestled into your hair and you felt an innocent kiss placed upon your head, making you grin. “That’s what made me smile. Your love.” You finished, a pale flush gracing your cheeks.

  The blonde chuckled, vibrations from his actions tickling your skin. “Doofus. Like I’m not going to be worried about a goddess when a hulking beast challenges her.” This comment gave him a light punch on the arm, a quiet grunt soon following. “Has the goddess turned into the beast?” Prompto gasped, removing his head from your hair. Another hit. Another grunt.

  “Shut up! I’m as peaceful as an anak, thank you very much!”

  “An anak that threatened, under her breath, to punch someone for giving her green peppers instead of red? Imagine that.”

  “'Under her breath’ being the key phrase there!” You retorted, looking up at him with your eyebrows furrowed and a determined glint in your eyes. His hands suddenly moved to your cheeks, squeezing them together to prevent you from defending yourself further. Prompto beamed, creases forming at the corners of his eyes at the sight, before he leant down and placed a chaste kiss to your puckered lips.

  “'I love you’ is the key phrase now, cutie.”


“The 12 notes of music hold infinite possibilities of melodies; a blank canvas offers endless possibilities at the hand of the artist; a photo can be taken 100 different ways but 100 different people who see infinitely differently.” @joelhouston #HillsongConf

November: 2 hemispheres, 4 weddings, endless possibilities of creativity. Leaving Seattle will be so hard, but I’m excited to head home to my city where I first learned creativity as an act of worship.

“The only art we can create is that which authentically reflects who we are. Our soul is the material for all we create. Thus, to nurture the artisan soul, essence is far more important than talent.” Erwin McManus, The Artisan Soul


You scare the shit out of me. You terrify me like nothing else.

You frighten me in the way early men must have been frightened on first viewing the Aurora Borealis blossoming above them in the northern sky, painting an unfathomable masterpiece on an endless cosmic canvas, or at witnessing the birth of an island as an erupting volcano boiled to the still, blue surface of an ancient sea and drank in the primal air in an explosion of white-hot glory. You frighten me in the way any beautiful, unexplainable phenomenon must have frightened the first man to conceive of the first gods in order to protect his own fragile sanity. But, it’s so much more than that.

You terrify me in the way a moth must feel terror as it flutters involuntarily nearer to the flickering flame of its own demise, drawn by some innate, undeniable urge that it has no strength, or means, or hope to combat. I read, and I see everything depicted by the artfully woven words your nimble mind has twined together, and all I can do is wonder at what might still lie hidden beneath; at whether I might survive a single verse further into your thoughts’ delectable recesses.

You terrify me because I am a man of worth, and of power, and of intellect, and I know this,— I know this as surely and completely as I know that you are an inescapably beautiful and intriguing flame; and I,— a moth.