| I'm Kyle. I like writing stories with depressing endings, and I have no skill at drawing whatsoever. I also like cats and Swedish music. |


MirAn ibashta, I claimed in one of my first stories, was a dull spear that was excellent for fighting. Since then I've often wondered about the practicality of that. But then, I wasn't a very practical child, was I? I suppose few children are, but then most children construct things that fall apart. The things they imagine don't stick together, and they go away once they've been formed and imagined. They're the lucky ones. I'm the one who's haunted by every story I've ever thought of, because the world I've built is always there. I hear the one-dimensional characters people, I suppose they are, though they're such shallow people beMir


Bartered Lantern BorrowedHis heart was tump-thumping too fast against her cheek not dangerously fast, not like he'd run a marathon or anything, but instead a disconcerting quickening, just fast enough to worry her but not fast enough that she'd allow herself to panic. The sound gave Nancy an occult sense of deja vu, as the bulging, swallowed gulp of Hoyt's heart became the reedy, shallow hiss of Daniel's lungs. Together they lined up, as on tracing paper with the charcoal outline of Daniel's odd breathing and the ensuing dilemma rubbing off onto Hoyt, along with all the guilt and agony the situation imprinted upon Nancy. She should tell him tomorrow. She couldBartered Lantern Borrowed


Bottles of WineWhen I told you I didn't feel anything anymore you thought I was bragging. When you drove past the gun store you saw me wearing clothes as mere accessories and you thought I was showing off. When I came home crying because he didn't follow the rules and he didn't leave money you thought I was being humble. Well, I haven't thought anything of you in years. It's the weakest kind of payback, but I'm not living well so the best revenge is on hold. Someday I'll put my hand down your throat to stop your laughing. Someday, I'll learn to laugh again.Bottles of Wine


SmartThe girl knew her father was wrong, somehow, and she knew exactly what he was wrong about. She just didn't know the correct words to express her sense of the incorrectness. That she should live with her mother well, that was wrong, completely wrong because she should live with her father. But she knew she couldn't open her mouth until she could explain why he was so wrong, why it wouldn't be better, and why there was only one way that could work properly and that was with her father. The words wouldn't form, though, and in that lapse of communication she found herself engulfed in a sense that her father was a stupid, stupid man becauseSmart


Inside the things I cherish [Day 23. Past a thousand words.]Dear love, the sky is a grayscale today And winds scream the menace of eternal sunless days. You know what I always found curious? People wearing layer after layer of clothes when cold starts showing itself so beautifully Maybe they just can't feel you in this weather, or they wouldn't cover their hearts. [Day 110. Past two thousand words.]Dear love, We were blessed with rain today And still I believe the loveliest thing was having to wait between its beautiful smell, and its arrival. You know whatInside the things I cherish


self-imagecan we trade eyes, lives, just for a while; i want to see myself the way you do.self-image


To You, Who Are the RainTo you who are the rain and the faint-fingered mist, I wish you would turn the tides of no other body, make no one else your sweet-sprinkled Spring, teach no other the art of sewing dew or let the torrents of your gaze trace through any other banks. I long for you to lead me to a place where no Summer falls, where we can sleep eternal, unafraid of the footfalls of Autumn.To You, Who Are the Rain
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I'm telling you this because you don't get it. You think you get it, which is not the same as actually getting it. Get it?
#theWrittenRevolution
#DRAWING-MANIACS
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Admin of #theWrittenRevolution
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c'est la vie.
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Admin of #theWrittenRevolution
Poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations
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c'est la vie.
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I am a lost soul desperately trying to find his way in this world of twists and turns.
Have faith. Keep hope. Dream big.
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Admin of #theWrittenRevolution
Poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations
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dA is for the literary arts, too.
Just wanted to say thank you so much for the DLD feature. It really does mean a lot to me.
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Scribe for #theWrittenRevolution
Support Literature on dA!
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