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Wednesday, July 13th, 2005
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Thursday, February 17th, 2005
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Wednesday, January 5th, 2005
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(*And so this begins another short story of mine, one that I will probably never finish, but anyways, ONWARDS!*)
As time goes on and I age with the passing hours of the passing days, I find that my childhood seems to become much more distant. It’s as if I’m looking through the wrong end of the telescope, never being able to close in on my memories. I lose the first few years of my life, as they are replaced with the last few, and as I grow older my past seems to fade. But even so I can remember us leaving that lovely old house, with its wide old porch and creaky steps.
I was small for my age, seven years old, but still so tiny. My father would call me his Thumbelina, saying that he found the most beautiful flower out in the field soon after he and my mother married. He picked it and brought it home to give to her as a present; and then that next morning, there I lay, the most beautiful baby they ever saw. They named me Leilani, the flower of Heaven in Italian.
It’s funny how I can pick out this certain memory so easily, ( Read more... )
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(*And so this begins another short story of mine, one that I will probably never finish, but anyways, ONWARDS!*)
As time goes on and I age with the passing hours of the passing days, I find that my childhood seems to become much more distant. It’s as if I’m looking through the wrong end of the telescope, never being able to close in on my memories. I lose the first few years of my life, as they are replaced with the last few, and as I grow older my past seems to fade. But even so I can remember us leaving that lovely old house, with its wide old porch and creaky steps.
I was small for my age, seven years old, but still so tiny. My father would call me his Thumbelina, saying that he found the most beautiful flower out in the field soon after he and my mother married. He picked it and brought it home to give to her as a present; and then that next morning, there I lay, the most beautiful baby they ever saw. They named me Leilani, the flower of Heaven in Italian.
It’s funny how I can pick out this certain memory so easily, ( Read more... )
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(*And so this begins another short story of mine, one that I will probably never finish, but anyways, ONWARDS!*)
As time goes on and I age with the passing hours of the passing days, I find that my childhood seems to become much more distant. It’s as if I’m looking through the wrong end of the telescope, never being able to close in on my memories. I lose the first few years of my life, as they are replaced with the last few, and as I grow older my past seems to fade. But even so I can remember us leaving that lovely old house, with its wide old porch and creaky steps.
I was small for my age, seven years old, but still so tiny. My father would call me his Thumbelina, saying that he found the most beautiful flower out in the field soon after he and my mother married. He picked it and brought it home to give to her as a present; and then that next morning, there I lay, the most beautiful baby they ever saw. They named me Leilani, the flower of Heaven in Italian.
It’s funny how I can pick out this certain memory so easily, ( Read more... )
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(*And so this begins another short story of mine, one that I will probably never finish, but anyways, ONWARDS!*)
As time goes on and I age with the passing hours of the passing days, I find that my childhood seems to become much more distant. It’s as if I’m looking through the wrong end of the telescope, never being able to close in on my memories. I lose the first few years of my life, as they are replaced with the last few, and as I grow older my past seems to fade. But even so I can remember us leaving that lovely old house, with its wide old porch and creaky steps.
I was small for my age, seven years old, but still so tiny. My father would call me his Thumbelina, saying that he found the most beautiful flower out in the field soon after he and my mother married. He picked it and brought it home to give to her as a present; and then that next morning, there I lay, the most beautiful baby they ever saw. They named me Leilani, the flower of Heaven in Italian.
It’s funny how I can pick out this certain memory so easily, ( Read more... )
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Tuesday, January 4th, 2005
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On the balcony of my mind’s eye,
The harbor of my heart
where its morse code
is integrated into every beat,
I can almost see my world
At its end,
And from there,
I see yours beginning.
All our bridges have been mended
Across the rivers underneath
And that fear of drowning?
It’s been drowned itself
The irony doesn’t affect me.
From here, I can see
My hand in yours
And our fates intertwined
Like the wild branches of ivy,
Suffocating
And devastatingly beautiful
Ashley
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Saturday, December 18th, 2004
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Thursday, December 16th, 2004
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Wednesday, December 15th, 2004
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Eyes glazed over, staring
straight beyond life
that's slowly draining away,
like hands
running through molasses.
It just seems that way
since we're so entangled
in our own desperation,
our desire to be free.
Anticipation blinded us.
We never noticed how
we started standing still.
Pretty statues made to worship
past mistakes,
apologies caught in the throat,
accusations pushed forward.
So sorry.
Really, truly, deeply.
We've stoped midleap
and the clock ticks on.
Ashley
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Sunday, December 5th, 2004
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Thursday, December 2nd, 2004
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Thursday, November 25th, 2004
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Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004
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| Time: | 11:59 pm. |
| Mood: |  confused. |
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I think I knew.
I'm not scared.
I'm not shaking.
I'm just sitting.
Right here.
Trying figure out
what I think now.
About you and I
and which way to turn.
What will happen to us?
Well, nothing much
I believe that whole
heartedly.
Friends forever.
But how much more...
should we be?
I'm mostly worried
about the others
and their feelings.
How *would* they feel
and *what* do I feel?
Someone dictate that to me.
Just make it a little
easier please.
Maybe when I find out
or when a stranger tells me
what to do exactly.
Like I said,
It's not so much 'us'
or even the world.
It's just that something
I can't quite explain
yet.
Ashley
It's not very...I don't know what it's not really. It's just feelings really, and thoughts.
Comment you non-commenting folk.
...Or I'll have to break some knee caps...
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Thursday, November 18th, 2004
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| Time: | 3:12 pm. |
| Mood: |  accomplished. |
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"Mixed Signals"
Speaking double
cut the meaning
sliced in two
ambiguous, that's the way
I like conversation
with you.
I just hope
I'm not a fool
for a translation
that isn't true.
Ashley
p.s. Don't misinterpret this guys! -lol- =P
This is the beginning of my poem per day streak. If I don't post one, then it's because it's too personal for the internet.
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Monday, November 15th, 2004
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| Time: | 2:52 pm. |
| Mood: |  bored. |
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There's hate...and envy
directed to the curl
in the pit of my stomach.
A crushing wave of feeling
a consuming fire,
born of losing something
I never really had.
Ashley
*it was written on the spot...*
Gimme a title.
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Sunday, November 14th, 2004
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Okay, I will truly be sticking with this layout for now. Why? I don't know. For some reason I'm in a mood to feel partial to this layout so there. *sticks out tongue* The only thing I may be changing is the icon between the comment links because it doesn't fit!! ARGH!
Ashley
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Wednesday, November 10th, 2004
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Yup, changed my background. I love this picture. It's still from Nairohe. Yes, she's the best. ^_^
http://www.nairohe.com/gallery
Do you like this one or the last one better?
Ashley
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Tuesday, October 26th, 2004
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| Time: | 2:29 pm. |
| Mood: | bored. |
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*untitled*
There's a box of broken promises underher arm
The conept of love's lost its glitter and charm
She speaks to herself in the falling rain
"Don't wear a jacket, let the cold numb the pain."
With these words on repeat
She's missing the things that she needs
Too bad none can see the way that she grieves
for the promises no one could keep.
Two teens beneath their favorite tree
kissing the scars on both of their knees
They sigh for their childhood lost much too soon
"It's sad that we wilt right after we bloom."
With these words on repeat
they're missing the things that they need
They think and they cry and they'll wonder why
it was innocence they couldn't keep.
A mother sits alone watching T.V.
Wishing her baby did not have to leave
With this war being waged, life's surrounded by death
"Let him come home, he's my only son left."
With these words on repeat
She's missing the love that she needs
She'll dream of his smile and pray for a while
for this life that she couldn't keep.
Ashley
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Monday, October 11th, 2004
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| Time: | 6:03 pm. |
| Mood: |  chipper. |
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Your words of promise were such beautiful
notes to me, a windchime's sweet song,
but its sparkling light
now hurts my eyes
and I can see right through.
Oh, it was such a charming tune...
too bad it had no meaning.
I can't think of a title......bah.....it's short.....double bah....lalalalala
Ashley
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storytellinf3wl's journal
geeky.
determined.