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Versalla's leatherwork is truly stunning, both from the design to the craftsmanship.
gorzkaczekoladka has a beautifully light, gentle style; her paintings seem to be suffused with light. A browse through her Gallery shows that she is a talented photographer as well.
sea-ebony's poems are short and simple, and all the more powerful for it. Her work will make you think, and then go back for another read.
DeTea's fractals are beautifully mesmerising to look at.
MissSkellington87's photography really showcases the beauty of the world around us.
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|More Journal Entries|
Eternali. In psychology, association is defined as a connection of ideas, memories or feelings between each other or events.Eternal by bonfirelights
Melissa once had birds in her feet.
She knows it because they were stolen. All she has left are the brittle bones and marks that might have been left by feathers, light as a dove’s trace. It’s painful. It makes it hard to walk, and she’s always walking.
When The Others took over the city, people like Melissa suffered greatly. People who had pretty birds and other things to lose. But now The Others have lost control to bandits and fledgling rogue groups. The rest of the citizens are just drifting. There’s no government, no power, no clamp to grip the city and squeeze productivity out of it like a dying machine.
So Melissa walks. She trails along the sides of the streets where girls like her could never walk before, smiling in the open sunlight but never forgetting her mission. She walks to track down the thieves who wronged her. She
garden music.todaygarden music. by crooked-clockwork
i am eleven
so i go out to play.
daddy's hand as it
today i am twelve,
i'll be dead.
and i'm okay.
if just for
Love Has Found A Home In This Heart (i)As soon as I first laid eyes on her, I could tell she was falling apart.Love Has Found A Home In This Heart (i) by CupofCharlie
I was in my local Starbucks, waiting for my regular lunchtime coffee to be prepared, considering my long list of objectives to complete by the end of the day, when out of the corner of my eye I spied her across the room. She was sat in the corner of the shop, almost entirely hidden from view behind a conveniently placed pillar. She was huddled over a book, both hands clasped tightly around it, as if holding on for dear life. I found her instantaneously intriguing, partly because she was not one of the regulars that I always saw inhabit this particular Starbucks, but mainly because she just looked so worn down. She looked as though the world had chewed her up and spat her out. She was trying to hold herself together, but I could tell that she was losing this battle. She stood out against the calming atmosphere of the coffee house. She was a visual juxtaposition, like a streak of red paint thrown violently against a