once there was a girl who saw a boy because the boy saw her.
in her mind, she was a princess and he became her king in a secret kingdom of love,
and magic,
and realness.

once there was a secret out to the world that turned royalty into ruins.
in his mind, he was in doubt for he wasn’t sure she could love anything, since love was so foreign for her,
and unusual,
and merciless.

once there was a mistake that hurt and cut because life took wrong turns.
in their minds, they ran in circles, going through mazes hidden in the walls of a castle,
and a lover,
and a home.

once there was a turn and a red sign that led them back to each other at the right moment.
in its mind, a certainty that couldn’t second guess
nor miss,

just change.

— once he got it wrong; once she knew how to love him.


you say the truth with blatant lies
and I lay down with secret sights
you hide from me and seek my mind
and I look for you hoping not to find.

— that’s why, darling, we are doomed

there’s not enough oxygen in the atmosphere to keep the flame of love eternally burning
it’s impossible to measure how long it will live and how soon it will die, but death is its only certainty.
its combustion is inevitable, quick, everlasting

— that’s why, darling, I don’t wish the cool, but the coal

Construindo Sara – Capítulo 2

Se você até já esqueceu o que a Construindo Sara é e nem lembra o que aconteceu no capítulo 1, basta clicar aqui.

Quando eu postei o primeiro capítulo, era aniversário da Sammy, que inspirou a Sara. Agora, hoje, é niver da Priscila, que inspirou a criação da Pati. É verdade que Patrícia sumiu no começo da história e ninguém sabe se ela vai voltar antes do final, mas não importa. O capítulo está aqui e eu realmente preciso continuar escrevendo (e digitando), porque eu sei que essa historinha tem potencial. Espero que gostem. x

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There was a clock ticking in the back of their minds
counting down every day,
scratching the rare moments of happiness that dared to last
one minute more
and another minute more
and another minute more yet
tick tick tick

That clock whispered words of fear,
of confident terror lurking on their backs,
waiting for its finest moment to come out,
a curse of rough path that
called the creatures of the night in a silent howl
of dread
and panic
and pain
and death yet
tick tick tick

And that fear was the key to their trembling legs,
failed memories,
missed calls,
foggy eyes,
the very core of their nightmares,
the shadow of their existence
and surviving
and strive yet
tick tick tick


rain bow

Também no ao3.


the way your heart bleeds red
through your veins and out of
your purple wounds
the way you laugh
turning the room orange
and cry bringing a shade of navy
the way your soul pours
wetting the dirt
seeding it into tiny green bits of life
is the same way the sky
bleeds exploding in colors
the way it weeps bursting its
blue pulse with gray and yellow
and a bow of rain
changing the world as it is for
a few seconds or minutes
making it brighter prettier more
colorful for enough time to
let us believe that it
will all be alright.

nature force

Isso está em inglês e meu inglês é muito ruim, então por favor releve. Também faz parte do meu desafio de 50 drabbles.


first time she came to him as a storm:
loud and unmerciful and beautiful
he hated every bit of her
the way animals hate thunders and bolts

second time she came to him as an exclamation:
arguable and fast and strong
he cared about every word that she said
the way little kids hang on to letters in a book

third time she came to him as a wolf:
thirsty and hungry and howling
he let her lick his wounds and mend his soul
the way time makes everything better

forth time she came to him as a sea:
overwhelming and vast and full
he sank deep down almost to the point of drowning
the way ships long for the ocean’s waters in an almost sick way

fifth time she came to him as a bomb:
lethal and precise and inevitable
he wrecked everything in their way for her
the way lovers would do in their very last minute of life

sixth time she came to him as a burden:
broken and fragile and collapsing
he tried to mend the pieces with sweat and blood
knowing that it would not do
the way the crafter weeps over his lost work

seventh time she came to him as a question:
unsure and unready and unbelievable
he was lost and full of feelings and could barely speak
the way you say to ghosts “I thought you were dead”
just to find out that they really are