Hiatus.

Due the fact that I cannot possibly find my muse for whatever stupid reason, I am going to stop posting here (but deleting would be simply absurd since I put work in the replies and I need to have them somewhere). 

Dear future me,

Who knows what the future holds? I have not the ability to see it, nor would I want such a thing, for where would all the fun be like that? I know that it is going to be bright, for there can never be darkness without light and the other way around.

I bet that when I shall be reading this after a few years I would laugh; I always do when I read what I have written in the past. But that only because I become more mature each day and, at the same time, more childish. 

Dear past me,

I shall be harsh and tell you (how odd it feels to talk to myself that way!) that I would slap you. During our youth we both know we’ve been reckless and idiotic, and I still cannot believe I did some things that I did. But at the same time, I am at peace with the past, and know that everything that has happened helped me grow. And I still do grow, with every moment that passes. As a man, as a Reaper and as myself.

{ out of souls } 

I am going to write both dear girlfriend and dear boyfriend here, and tag all the aus, because I don’t feel like writing the same thing twice, thus the reason why it is not specific at all. I'm always too lazy

Beloved,

I know not how to begin, but once I do, words simply spill from the tip of the pen and instead of a letter, do I write a novel. But neither that would make it complete. But I do struggle with the first few words still, and I keep trying to say everything that is to be told, as foolish as I might end up being doing so.

And still, there is poetry written by my fingers, for the moment I think of you and I close my eyes, I can write thousands of ballads and love songs, to enchant your ears with; words are never enough and thus they spill from both my tongue and my core like water does from the sky in one of those rainy days we can spend sheltered within one another’s arms, safe from the coldness of the air.

You make me live paradox.

It is your beauty that has left me astonished, dazzled, in a state I cannot quite name, from the very first day I saw you, and you smiled at me. Ah that smile! How it made me melt inside and caused for my body to become weak! How it still has such a terribly effect on me, my beloved, my darling, my angel and my demon!

I endlessly desire for you to rest against my chest, where you can feel my heart singing just for you. It is a song only our bodies know, and thus, it is one I wish only you to hear, for those moments in which our skin melts together are dearest to me.

You are always there to smile and keep me going, always there to guide my steps through thorns and sharp stones, your hand warm in mine. So warm that it burns at my flesh and I can count the moments before your grip starts to ache, and it’s such a lovely feeling! To think that the simple act of holding hands makes me so happy — but that is exactly what made me fall so hard for you, my darling.

I love you still. I love you more than words can ever describe and still do I try. For what are words? Mere syllabus put together in a vague attempt to describe something indescribable! But this feeling burns vividly inside my chest and it’s a fire that shall never die; this I want you to know. For nothing else matters but the fact that I am infatuated with your very presence and that you drive me insane.

Keep doing so, witch, and I shall keep being by your side through eternity.

Dear Santa,

You need to stop wearing that silly red suit, it makes you look chubby and believe me, although children love the thought of a chubby man entering their house at night, parents do not. And then I have been called a pedophile, hmpfth.

Oh, and we’re still at it, I am still mad at you because you did not bring me the chocolate cake I demanded last year. You do have two months left to make up for that.