Stawberry Wine - Part 4: First Taste of Love (Teaser)

So it is way overdue I got back to updating my Series. Do you guys remember Stawberry Wine? If not or if you need to catch up here is the  MASTERPOST

Part 4 will be out tomorrow till then here is a teaser. Are you excited?

“Always gonna fly away, just because you know you can, never gonna learn there is no such place as neverland, you don’t understand, you’ll never grow up, you’re never gonna be a man, Peter Pan….”

You closed your eyes as you sang the last couple of lines, remembering the man that had left you lonely, pregnant and scared a few years back. There was no love lost between you and him and your daughter would never know her dad. You opened your eyes to return to the center of the stage for the second verse and a gasp escaped your lungs. For a second you’d thought you had seen another part of you past ducking behind a group of people in the middle of the crowd.

A part of your past that to this day still made your heart race and you almost missed your cue. Charlie and Jo was by your side in an instant, helping you along, sensing something was off, but you just shook your head slightly as you quickly lost yourself in the song and the show once again.

The rest of the show your mind was racing. You gave it your all, but a small part of your heart and your thoughts was with the man you had thought you had seen in the crowd. You knew it hadn’t been him. How could it be?

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“Our lives are poems. Everything arrives and passes away as it should, and we don’t know the ending—which is the moment the entire poem, its meaning and music, is revealed—until the last line is written, even though it has perhaps existed in the eternal now all along. If we are called to write—and love is the true measure of any calling—then it is joyful duty, even in struggle.”

—Sawnie Morris, in the “5 Over 50″ feature in the November/December issue of Poets & Writers Magazine (2016)

a new york birthday.

fandom: girl meets world 
pairing: maya hart x zac friar (oc) 
word count: 1,170
prompt: here
notes: another zac/maya fic for my pals korry and ana!!! this one is not nearly as good as my first one (at least imho) but i hope y’all enjoy it anyway!!! this is v simply and also v cheesy #sorrynotsorry 

“Alright cowboy, rumor on the streets is that somebody’s birthday is coming up next week.” A smirk played on Maya’s lips as she leaned casually on the locker next to Zac’s, raising her eyebrows playfully. “Is there any truth to these rumors? Do I need to to call my favorite clown?”

“There might be. Depends on whether or not you’re gonna get me anything.” He matched her smirk and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. “And it really doesn’t surprise me that you have a favorite clown, ya freak.” Maya reached over and smacked his arm, shaking her head with a small laugh.

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Just The Two of Us

Author:                @supernaturallymarvellous

Word Count:      1194

Warnings:          None

Author Note:     Jen over @winchesterprincessbride is celebrating reaching 800 followers and as part of that celebration, she set up a challenge based on lines taken from songs in her extensive and eclectic music library.  I picked the line “I’d rather live in his world, than live without him in mine” from Midnight Train to Georgia by Gladys Knight & The Pips.

As for who the “he” is throughout this fic, you’ll just have to wait until the very last line to find that out!


I never used to know when I was going to see him next; sometimes it was weeks or even months.  All I knew for certain is that once in a while, I’d get a call to say that he was passing through town and then a few hours later, I’d hear the gentle rumbling of an engine as he pulled up in front of my house, swiftly followed by a knock at the door. He’d walk in with a smirk spread across his face, his eyes locked onto mine, making me feel like I was the most important person in the entire world.  I’d barely have time to shut the door behind him before his hands were on me, pulling me close to him and making me forget about all of the time that had passed since the last time we’d been together.  However short his stay was, we certainly made the most of it.    

As wonderful as those whistle-stop visits were, the days after he left saw me walking around like a shadow of my former self, devoid of all emotion except the overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss.  I wished that he could stay with me permanently, that he could give up his seemingly never-ending crusade, but I knew he wouldn’t so I was careful never to let him see that side of me, never letting the façade slip – he had enough on his plate without me adding to his worries.  

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watching moonlight, the tears came when Mahershala (Juan) talked about being from Cuba, when Chiron visits his mom, the next scene in where he’s driving to see Kevin and Cucurrucucu Paloma by Caetano Veloso plays over superimposition of black kids playing in the water, when Kevin plays Hello Stranger for Chiron, and the last line.

it’s such a shame that for the first three years, all anyone will want to talk about is how amazed and stunned that this movie was made, and how it’s going to combat the oscar’s diversity issue, and be relegated to a film that serves as reason to why black filmmakers should be allowed to make films in hollywood (assuming that they give a shit about appeasing to liberals). how i wish the talk can be about the music and the pain and the cum in the sand. 

Letters from the Depths of Solitude. 136. On Endings of Poems

If only there was a chance to end a poem with two different last lines, unfolding simultaneously, arriving to the destination in two layers of time for a reader, side by side, marking a final form of what the poem is destined to be, happening at once, developing in the reader’s eyes in parallel, this and also that, one way yet the other, in such exact manner but also in quite the opposite, and both, now.

It does not seem to be possible, although bifurcating poems, I imagine, have been and are written. Our attention is always limited to just one limited spot. The focus. A narrow stripe, a pointed end, a tiny dot of attention. No way to live two devastatingly differently ending poems at once.

(Written on a Lego box.)