parisisforlovers

The goddess of fertility.

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Snow.... pt. II by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

Snow.... pt. II

You sigh, a sigh not of defeat, but mostly to see your breath on the breeze and try to release some of the growing tension in your chest. The rain gets to see this sign of weakness and now it knows how exhausted you are. But you will find her; that is all that matters. The rain has soaked all of your hair, even under your hat. It runs chilled down your face. The train is coming, and even if you don't see it, you trust that it will. You know that she loves trains. Even if the one ride you accompanied her on was very short, you saw her in frozen awe, stroking the seat she sat in and you didn't talk much. You wonder if there's anything she lo

Snow....pt. I by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

Snow....pt. I

There isn’t a line at the booth, so the tickets were allotted, and he knew you lived far away. So far away you couldn’t take a train there. You don’t love a woman until you could drive through New York City without having ever driven before just to find her. Not until you can’t keep from trembling when you’re in control, not until you’re in control, not until you are afraid to touch her, not until you think anything could break her. You wait for the train standing in the rain, even though the option of cover is a few feet away. You want to be close to where that door will be, as close as you can to this vesse

For a Friend II by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

For a Friend II

Hush. We’re broken fingernails and months of my steel cable hope and your scarred eyes. I don’t know why it hasn’t frayed, but maybe it has. We send our emotions in pizza boxes delivered by a man on a red bike. In the cold city, he yearns for an easy way to dodge traffic and to go away without having to leave. His love is to observe but never to touch and he stares downward, so his eyes are hard to see. You’re a crane on two towers wading, and the wind is gone for me, but it’s enough for you. “You’ll find me here, love.” But your stilts are stirring ripples that cause raging

His Window by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

His Window

It’s in this place where the trains drone over the music as they go by and there’s always a moment of hesitation, where poise falters. Her dance was like willing an eggshell not to break or watching a bird nourished back to health fly away. He feels like he’s saying goodbye even though she’ll still lay in his arms, still love him when she’s through, but she seems farther away, off growing older in a few hours. She is alone in the dim bright lights a feather on water, feeling her way. From this far, if he holds his palm up, she dances on his hand. Then comes a climax, a whistle, a noise wasted long

For a friend by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

For a friend

We're bitten fingernails and months of my steel cable hope and your scarred eyes. I don't know why it hasn't frayed, but maybe it has. We send our emotions in pizza boxes delivered by a man on a red bike. In the cold city, he yearns for an easy way to dodge traffic and to go away without having to leave. His love is to observe but never to touch and he stares downward, so it's hard to see his eyes. We both interest in stories about saviors and sacrifice A grey-tipped feather, fireflies lighting candles and a pan flute's shy melody blending the faintest gold trail into the ink. Your stilts are stirring ripples that cause

Context by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

Context

I. You always told me to collect the dregs of memory in a convenient jar. But mine always cracked and they fell into your waiting hands until you decided to break your fingers. You were my witness, and having a witness is a humiliating but also a life-saving thing. II. You always built me beautiful buildings and told me they could never fall. Well, the Titanic could never sink, they all said. I always lay awake thinking about what a cruddy architect you are and how you must be blind because everything you make has holes in it. You like to fix things, but you can't call yourself a saviour if you heal me then blow me rig

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Snow.... pt. II by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

Snow.... pt. II

Snow....pt. I by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

Snow....pt. I

For a Friend II by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

For a Friend II

His Window by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

His Window

For a friend by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

For a friend

Context by parisisforlovers, literature

Literature

Context

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Khist by parisisforlovers, visual art

Khist

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About parisisforlovers

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Artist // Literature

Canada
Deviant for 16 years
She / Her

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My Bio

(It's cause it seems to me that if you travel far enough east, you're bound to find the sun. He's a nice guy.)

Current Residence: The sands of time.
Favourite genre of music: Alternative, Indie, Classic Rock, and... Showtunes. xD
Operating System: Mac! =D
MP3 player of choice: iTouch.

Favourite Visual Artist

Scumbi

Favourite Movies

Where the Wild Things Are, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Truman Show

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Matt & Kim, Arcade Fire, Modest Mouse, the Strokes, The National.

Favourite Writers

Scumbi

Favourite Games

FFX, Okami, the Sims....

Favourite Gaming Platform

Ps2.

Tools of the Trade

Pencil.

Other Interests

Original Characters, Psychology.

Posts

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parisisforlovers

Nov 11, 2009

Devious Journal Entry

0 min read

New account. Mail me if you wanna stay in touch.

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parisisforlovers

Oct 21, 2009

Devious Journal Entry

0 min read

Standing at the punch table swallowing punch cant pay attention to the sound of anyone a little more stupid, a little more scared every minute more unprepared I made a mistake in my life today everything I love gets lost in drawers I want to start over, I want to be winning way out of sync from the beginning I wanna hurry home to you put on a slow, dumb show for you and crack you up so you can put a blue ribbon on my brain god Im very, very frightening Ill overdo it Looking for somewhere to stand and stay I leaned on the wall and the wall leaned away Can I get a minute of not being nervous and not thinking o

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parisisforlovers

Oct 10, 2009

Devious Journal Entry

0 min read

I think the reason I love characters so deeply and so long after I've finished them is because it's not really the story I love.. it's the emotion. Mainly their state of being. All the details that don't matter. Yes, being. My characters exist. Kundera put it well... characters don't just describe parts of the author (they do, but there's more), they also represent chances lost, experiences, longings, nostalgia, and things we wish we are. But they never actually lived. Well.. I'm not wording this right, but it's spreading from that. His were made from tiny fragments. I wanna try that. I guess I'm trying to explain why I take this experien