Нашао сам своје небо у tвојим очима @randomlygeneratedworld - Tumblr Blog

literaryhistories

*softly and with a lot of feeling* koji kurac

misternikola

nema dalje.

dissociativedollz-deactivated20

Please do not cry my love, I am going nowhere.

I will stay here for you, even if I want to die, so you can live joyous with me by your side. I will not be selfish and leave you here, I will stay and face my fears, not because I'm scared to stare into the eyes of death, but because you are worth every lasting breath, even if I'm left gasping for air, I will continue to do it, because you need me here.

I will not leave<3

-Elliot

possums-against-cops

Wrapped in the mothering arms of the universe, you sleep. Her fingers drift through your hair and across your skin, leaving trails of stardust behind. She sings, and it sounds like somebody is playing a violin somewhere else. She sounds like the taste of peaches and the smell of home and the warmth of your childhood dog. You are small in her lap, but you know she is gentle so you don’t mind your fragile body now.

You peek your eyes open in a dreary half-awake way, the rocking of her chair insisting you sleep. You tilt your head slightly to look at her face, still curled against her body. You’re not sure what she looks like, even though you stare at her every night. Despite this, you know she is beautiful.

She calls you her child in a language she made up. She loves you, the universe. She doesn’t anticipate you to do great things, but she loves you anyways. She knows you are tender and kind and sweet, because she made you this way. She is proud of each and every one of her children, as all mothers would be.

She begins to sing quieter, muffled. You cling to her, hoping to hear her song for just a little longer. The mild darkness, her comforting hold on you, it begins to feel slightly different. You shift once more, and she only drifts further. You can see through her fond smile now, to something else. Something more worldly, but less desirable. She murmurs to you, ‘have a good morning’, in a language she made up.

Your fan feels cold on your face when you sit up, the crust of sleepy tears itchy on your eyes. Although she is never gone, you miss her. You grumble as you rub at your eyes and reach for your glasses, and murmur something in a language she made up. She hears it and smiles.

The universe loves you, you know.