I know a man with two faces
And the one he wears depends on
Where he is at
And who he is with
And who can or cannot see.
When I met this man with two faces,
All I knew of him
Was what my sister had told me.
That he was a friend
And a professional
A volunteer librarian.
That they attend college together.
And he was a single man
Who lived alone,
Who had dated women.
And when I met this man
And ate with him
And talked with him
And laughed with him
I believed what my sister had said.
Yet I had another friend,
A close friend,
Who also knew the man,
And knew him better than my sister.
The man had helped my friend
When thing
It's amazing
how everything can change
yet it can all be the same...
How everything can shatter
yet it can still come back together.
How much you can hurt and hate
yet you can let it go so fast.
How silent you can be for so long
yet the conversation can continue in an instant.
How you can feel so backstabbed
yet that person can heal the wound.
How you swear reality will hurt forever
yet it can be fixed.
How nothing can ever be how it was
yet it can be so close to it.
How you can swear you don't give a damn
yet you can go back to caring like you did.
How fast you can run from someone
yet you can return to them just as quickl
Chapter Seven:
Right on Time.
Holmes woke, not daring to move. He didn't want to open his eyes and discover that last night was all a dream. That none of it had happened, that he had never been John's, that he'd never had that chance
He could not lie there and wish forever, though. He had to open his eyes at some point, so he braced himself to lose everything that he'd imagined he'd gained.
When he opened his eyes, he saw John. More accurately, John's bare shoulders.
He didn't realize that his fingernails were long enough to leave such marks
Or that he'd truly bitten John that hard
He chuckled to himself as he
Chapter Five:
This is Not. Sudden.
"Is he now?" He smiled and his lip twitched.
"Yes " John read the page again, this time more intently. "You've questioned him already?"
"Yes."
"And??" The question was sharp.
"And I have found him innocent. Possibly the most innocent person of any mentioned within that file."
"Are you sure?"
The question annoyed him Was he sure? Of course he was sure. He had done this for years and had never once been wrong. He could say with absolute certainty after he questioned a man whether or not he'd had anything to do with a crime committed. John knew that! But now he suddenly doubted Holmes. Why? B
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 3 by xxBlueLoverxx, literature
Literature
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 3
Chapter Three: The Taste of Blood and Scotch.
When he woke, John had returned and was dozing in the chair across from him. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, why he was in his chair... When he did, he realized that John must have put him there.
He ran a hand over his face, sighing. He must have scared John half to death... He'd thought he had his limit figured out, but had underestimated himself... Again. Since he'd passed out, the drugs had done nothing for him, and he'd have to find some other way to keep himself sane.
He looked at John again, and a dozen thoughts flashed across his mind... A dozen things he could have
I wish I was like Atlas,
Though I would not shoulder the sky.
I would place upon myself
much heavier burdens than that.
Daily, at some point, I wish
with all that I am
that I could, even for a moment,
shoulder someone else's pain.
I would give most anything
to stand where they are
to take their place
and to give them peace.
When those I care for hurt,
I notice, and want only
to trade places with them
if only for a few moments.
Because I know that in that time
they would have a little peace
to just breathe, or smile,
or even get a good night's sleep.
Spoken, or unspoken,
big or what some would call small
Pain is pain, n
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 1 by xxBlueLoverxx, literature
Literature
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 1
Chapter One: A Beautiful Breaking
"I've decided to ask her to marry me."
The statement came from nowhere. It was unprecedented and startling. John was merely sitting, enjoying his tea as he read the paper, while Sherlock himself tended to his violin.
"What?" He looked up, taken aback.
"I'm going to ask Mary for her hand in marriage, Holmes."
He blinked. Swallowed. Registered what John had said and the full impact of these words.
John would marry her, and would therefore live with her. Be away from him for the rest of his life. That would be difficult.
"Holmes?"
He jerked back to reality then.
"Congratulations." He said, his nos
In between...
the apart and the kiss
the sobbing and the silence
the "I love" and the "you"
the college and the apartment
the walking and the joining of hands
the smile and the laugh
the day and the night
the winter and the summer
the sleeping and the awake
the "I am" and the "sorry"
the "Once upon a time" and the "happily ever after"
the cut off and the applause
the "I forgive" and the "you"
the rain and the sunshine
there is beauty.
I know a man with two faces
And the one he wears depends on
Where he is at
And who he is with
And who can or cannot see.
When I met this man with two faces,
All I knew of him
Was what my sister had told me.
That he was a friend
And a professional
A volunteer librarian.
That they attend college together.
And he was a single man
Who lived alone,
Who had dated women.
And when I met this man
And ate with him
And talked with him
And laughed with him
I believed what my sister had said.
Yet I had another friend,
A close friend,
Who also knew the man,
And knew him better than my sister.
The man had helped my friend
When thing
It's amazing
how everything can change
yet it can all be the same...
How everything can shatter
yet it can still come back together.
How much you can hurt and hate
yet you can let it go so fast.
How silent you can be for so long
yet the conversation can continue in an instant.
How you can feel so backstabbed
yet that person can heal the wound.
How you swear reality will hurt forever
yet it can be fixed.
How nothing can ever be how it was
yet it can be so close to it.
How you can swear you don't give a damn
yet you can go back to caring like you did.
How fast you can run from someone
yet you can return to them just as quickl
Chapter Seven:
Right on Time.
Holmes woke, not daring to move. He didn't want to open his eyes and discover that last night was all a dream. That none of it had happened, that he had never been John's, that he'd never had that chance
He could not lie there and wish forever, though. He had to open his eyes at some point, so he braced himself to lose everything that he'd imagined he'd gained.
When he opened his eyes, he saw John. More accurately, John's bare shoulders.
He didn't realize that his fingernails were long enough to leave such marks
Or that he'd truly bitten John that hard
He chuckled to himself as he
Chapter Five:
This is Not. Sudden.
"Is he now?" He smiled and his lip twitched.
"Yes " John read the page again, this time more intently. "You've questioned him already?"
"Yes."
"And??" The question was sharp.
"And I have found him innocent. Possibly the most innocent person of any mentioned within that file."
"Are you sure?"
The question annoyed him Was he sure? Of course he was sure. He had done this for years and had never once been wrong. He could say with absolute certainty after he questioned a man whether or not he'd had anything to do with a crime committed. John knew that! But now he suddenly doubted Holmes. Why? B
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 3 by xxBlueLoverxx, literature
Literature
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 3
Chapter Three: The Taste of Blood and Scotch.
When he woke, John had returned and was dozing in the chair across from him. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, why he was in his chair... When he did, he realized that John must have put him there.
He ran a hand over his face, sighing. He must have scared John half to death... He'd thought he had his limit figured out, but had underestimated himself... Again. Since he'd passed out, the drugs had done nothing for him, and he'd have to find some other way to keep himself sane.
He looked at John again, and a dozen thoughts flashed across his mind... A dozen things he could have
I wish I was like Atlas,
Though I would not shoulder the sky.
I would place upon myself
much heavier burdens than that.
Daily, at some point, I wish
with all that I am
that I could, even for a moment,
shoulder someone else's pain.
I would give most anything
to stand where they are
to take their place
and to give them peace.
When those I care for hurt,
I notice, and want only
to trade places with them
if only for a few moments.
Because I know that in that time
they would have a little peace
to just breathe, or smile,
or even get a good night's sleep.
Spoken, or unspoken,
big or what some would call small
Pain is pain, n
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 1 by xxBlueLoverxx, literature
Literature
Memoirs of a Secret Love, Ch. 1
Chapter One: A Beautiful Breaking
"I've decided to ask her to marry me."
The statement came from nowhere. It was unprecedented and startling. John was merely sitting, enjoying his tea as he read the paper, while Sherlock himself tended to his violin.
"What?" He looked up, taken aback.
"I'm going to ask Mary for her hand in marriage, Holmes."
He blinked. Swallowed. Registered what John had said and the full impact of these words.
John would marry her, and would therefore live with her. Be away from him for the rest of his life. That would be difficult.
"Holmes?"
He jerked back to reality then.
"Congratulations." He said, his nos
I know a man with two faces
And the one he wears depends on
Where he is at
And who he is with
And who can or cannot see.
When I met this man with two faces,
All I knew of him
Was what my sister had told me.
That he was a friend
And a professional
A volunteer librarian.
That they attend college together.
And he was a single man
Who lived alone,
Who had dated women.
And when I met this man
And ate with him
And talked with him
And laughed with him
I believed what my sister had said.
Yet I had another friend,
A close friend,
Who also knew the man,
And knew him better than my sister.
The man had helped my friend
When thing
Nature: Show me your best, and I'll take it with me to share with the world.
Current Residence: Depends on who you ask. Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock Skin of choice: The one I'm in Personal Quote: You've got to go after the things you want while you're still in your prime.
Favourite Visual Artist
I have many.
Favourite Movies
Tangled or the Princess Bride
Favourite TV Shows
Big Bang Theory, Bones, Jeopardy
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Journey, Paramore
Favourite Books
Pretty much all of them...........
Favourite Writers
Sarah Dessen, J.K. Rowling, or Edgar Allan Poe. pick one
Job I had but was becoming less and less fond of? Out of it, with my library work study all lined up for school!
Boyfriend stressing about not having a job yet? 40 hours a week for him, boo ya!
Dog that was gonna just get sent of and put down even though she was sweet and needs training? Living safe and sound with my boyfriend :)
Days where all I wanna do is sleep? Haven't seen one for a week!
Feeling too busy to spend time with friends I love? Finally have time to chill with them.
It's been a good week, and on that note I would like to wish you all a happy Esther Day, a holiday honored by John Green every August 3rd. Today, a young nerd
A lot has changed in the past year for me. Some for better, some... not so much.
And because of things people have said, there are days when my head likes to make me wonder who I am.
Am I immature? Do I make those around me come off as the immature freak? Am I really so childish? I mean.... Multiple people have told me this. They have ended friendships because of this (via the internet *snort*)... And I wonder if it's true....
However, because of this, I have become closer to many people. I know who I can rely on now.
Or can I? See, this is where it really gets tricky. When friend A left, I reached out to my other friends in ways I never
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you've ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you've just said.
They don't remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don't forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
because
they're busy
remembering
the important things.
(Didn't write this, found it on tumblr)