Sometimes I wonder, 
if I was born into a world a little bit to the right. 

That somewhere, 
there is another world,
with another me,
who’s had the chance to do things right.
The chance to be who they choose to be,
and not what they must become to survive.

My only regret is - 
that you are unable to see this best version of myself. 

That you must only know me as I am here; 
a soul out of place, 
a little too different to truly thrive.

A me who is unworthy of what you have sacrificed. 
A me who is undeserving of you and your love.

My only hope is - 
that one day,
you will be able to see this best version of me. 

(and maybe we will both be worthy)

—  i wasn’t built for this world, but maybe i was built for you // e.q.
When I look up at the stars,
they look back at me. It seems we are both the same; made of stardust and shimmering hope.
—  When the Stars Look Back at Me// A.S.

Melony writes YOI fic, part II.  This one is a Victor character study.  Excuse me while I get to know these characters before I jump into Victuuri hell.  Note: I used Yura instead of Yuri(o) in Victor’s internal monologue because I read somewhere that that’s a more accurate shortening of his name. (Next up:  I’m thinking skating injuries/callouses, thanks)


For all that Hasetsu was completely foreign to Victor, it was almost a relief to be there.

Never mind the Japanese assaulting his ears, the illegible signs, the culture that should be shocking him. The food was fantastic, the alcohol potent, and the hot springs—well, Victor was taking full advantage of that.

Despite all the differences, he didn’t feel all that homesick. Makkachin was there, and Hasetsu Ice Castle was close, and really, if he were to describe what home was to him, the things at the forefront of his mind were his poodle and a sheet of ice to skate on. It wasn’t as busy as his home rink, and sometimes he missed the company, but it was peaceful.

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Introspective bliss

The grass swayed in the wind
Like drunken patrons of now empty bars
Finding their way home.

He felt the moist soil
As it conformed to his every footstep
Clinging, like society does to the trends he wanted so desperately to avoid.

The trees remained stoic
As he attempts to do
When things in his life don’t go according to plan.

And the sun retreated into the darkness of the night,
As if the star was running from it’s problems,
Just like he was.

That connection he felt
With the grass, soil and sun
Taught him of neglected beauty
And how the things we look past everyday
Are astonishing treasures waiting to be plucked from the realm of triviality
By the blessed eyes of meticulous onlookers.

For those who find the beauty in everything

Find an abundance in themselves.