Venerable, You Live Up To Your Name. Part 1: Voice.

Venerable, you live up to your name. Part 1: Voice.

“ accorded a great deal of respect, especially because of age, wisdom, or character. ”

Your honey-suckle voice, characterised with soothing undertones of an unknown accent -an enigma I am yet to unfurl - viscous with laughter as it bubbles out from the silver jar of your throat and into the room, bumping carelessly against the ceiling, like the bees bump lazily into pretty, prepossessing flowers on a hot, leisurely summer evening. Your voice seems to effervesce as it sweeps by my hears, fizzing static in my mind as I lean in closer to the luminescent screen from which I am able to take enjoyment from hearing your laughter. And I do just that.

Take pure joys from your joys. Take happiness from your happiness. Take laughs from your laughter to keep as my own, a selfish selfless little gift which I pocket; a little treat which I can savour later as I call to mind every memory of you so I can make my day last a little longer into the feverish night.

My focus may falter from your words - which I am positively sure I must pay more attention to - but I cannot, for the life of me, let these moments pass me by. So I sit.

And I observe.

And I capture. And I remember.

Like I did last night, like I do tonight, like I will do for every night until your voice is here with me; tucked away into the corners of every room, residing in the cobwebs, living in the breeze blowing through my unlatched window.

I will miss your voice most of all, sweet.

But I will miss how I missed you, with such love, and passion, and need.

My muse, my secret source of solace, my recollection of you, Sebastian.

Your voice, a tape I want to play until it replaces my own thoughts. Your voice. Your voice. Your voice. Replace me and make me your voice.

i crave you in everyone i meet

Page 1. All my own work, always.

Once upon a dream,

I saw it gleam, your great excalibur surges from its sheath, how can it be?

Your knuckles are porcelain around the dishevelled handle, unfamiliar sight, doesn’t look right to see the delicate bloom of health seated uncomfortably upon the crude throne of death. Your hand upon the handle.

Hues from your peach gilded skin shift like seabeds and sandy shores. Unfamiliarity surges forth from the linear scape of your trembling hand, the wide expanse of your fleshy palm reflects the glimmer of a gallant weapon. The harsh pearly shimmer, a sharp contrast against the intimate pink of your skin.

Feels like a God ordained sin. Rustic scent, heavy in the air, burdensome on the mind. Haven’t we been here before? Amongst the poplar trees and a soft, subtly sweet breeze. You’re perfumed with stoic sweat, catching the misty sheen of sunlight as it angles in on you, a nimbus playing around you- brighter than the glare of God. You’re crowned with glory. And I am dethroned. Your faith prevails. Mine fails, falters, falls upon its knees.

You subdued sins. I screamed in wretched agony.

about me ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

I'm "tee", I'm 16 !

I made this blog just to scribble some stuff down, my own online journal <3

You will see some of my own pics and quotes I've gathered but the rest is mainly reblogs

don't take this srsly !!

I have little to no experience in writing but please don't be too harsh!

I'm open to any and all form of constructive criticism :3

I'm rlly into literature and sociology too, I'd love to have someone to discuss these things with! :o