cloudlings
Status:
Joined: April 5, 2013
Last Seen: 6 years
user id: 355856
Location: San Diego
Gender: F
Joined: April 5, 2013
Last Seen: 6 years
user id: 355856
Location: San Diego
Gender: F
23
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183 Favorites
17 Following
48 Followers
-82 Comment Points
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Flair
183 Favorites
17 Following
48 Followers
-82 Comment Points
Comments
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Flair
bye babies :-*
(@disposition)
(@disposition)
cloudlings's Favorite Quotes
If men could get pregnant, abortion clinics would be like
starbucks.
there would be two on every block and four in every airport and the morning after pill would come in different flavors like sea salt and cool ranch.
there would be two on every block and four in every airport and the morning after pill would come in different flavors like sea salt and cool ranch.
Suddenly,
I become a part of your past.
TENSION
He stares with such vicious passion that
you can see it in his eyes. It dances behind his pupils and
oscillates beneath the light. The corner of his mouth twitches
just as my hands clench into hard fists. There is passion yet
there is humor that lingers, and it angers me to a point of no
return.
“You’re upset.” He states what he observes, but this only fuels the fire. My eyebrows furrow more and more and the skin they rest upon tightens. The spot where my heart beats aches.
But I say nothing.
There is a sudden feeling of something being snapped into place and although it does not exist, it is almost as if you can hear it being set.
“Why?”
And then it is wound. It is reeled and it is coiled. It is done so tightly that it’s unbearable and everything feels on edge. But it does not stop—no, it has no emotions nor remorse.
“Leave me alone.” It leaves my lips clipped and razor sharp; deadly enough to cut someone into pieces.
I turn, my shoulder now facing him, my hair acting as a shield and obscuring my face. As I avert my eyes away, I think of all the words I feel right now. Annoyed. Irritated. Aggravated.
And I nearly jump at the sudden contact of his hand on my forearm. His grip is strong but not bone gnashing, yet I feel his fingertips seeping into my skin. I whip my head in his direction and catch his eyes again. They are warm and fervent as ever and I know it will only grow if I try to yank free. The humor that was once there is now gone.
“You always want to be alone...” he trails off and I can only stare back—for a moment.
“Get off of me,” I say it low, practically mumbling, the words barely escaping.
“You never give it a chance—you never want to talk about anything! You’re always running off, running away… to be alone. Is that really what you want?” His grip softens but what he speaks is firm and sharp as ever.
“Get off of me!” I repeat, my mouth full of poison, my arm jerking free. There is a tiny hum in my eardrums and I am tempted to flee.
But before I can even think of an escape, I am grabbed by my shoulders and rammed into the nearest wall. My back hits the concrete and all the breath that circulates in my lungs rushes free. The spot on my shoulders where his hands are burn. The soft humming in my ears transform into that winding, reeling sound again and it is being coiled fast. It turns and tightens with such an intense speed that I am almost deaf.
“Is that what you really want?” He says again, but this time his voice is merely a rasped whisper.
His hands release me and are put on either side of my hand. He is so tall that he casts an entire shadow over me. His chest is broad so there is no entrance forward. His feet are evenly placed so there is no ducking under him. He has trapped me. And he knows it.
I feel my bottom lip quiver and I keep my eyes down. Do not stare at him, do not gaze at him, do not look at him. I still hear that winding sound and it seems as if it is in my heart. He leans forward until we are so close that I can feel the heat that radiates from his skin. This only adds to the warmth that is growing, growing, growing. I feel the flames igniting at my cheeks.
I breathe and instantly regret it. My senses are overwhelmed by him. He smells like summertime after a long, cold winter. Or the scent of rain that finally falls on dry land after so many years. It smells so sweet and so benign and so opposite of what he appears that I can hardly believe that it is him.
It is him. I glance up. I search his expression for something unknown. But all I see are those eyes, how painfully they bore into me. And his lips, which color could only be matched to a dark, almost-desaturated peony. That winding sound does not let up. In fact is grows louder, if it could even do so. It is so loud that I am almost unaware of how heavily we breathe.
His face is flushed at the cheeks and I know mine is no better. He bites into his bottom lip, his teeth dragging across the skin. He licks at the spot for a second, quickly moistening it. He is hovering just above me.
The winding suddenly stops and is replaced by the most uproarious snap.
I am caught.
I am trapped.
And as his lips descend upon mine, he knows it.
“You’re upset.” He states what he observes, but this only fuels the fire. My eyebrows furrow more and more and the skin they rest upon tightens. The spot where my heart beats aches.
But I say nothing.
There is a sudden feeling of something being snapped into place and although it does not exist, it is almost as if you can hear it being set.
“Why?”
And then it is wound. It is reeled and it is coiled. It is done so tightly that it’s unbearable and everything feels on edge. But it does not stop—no, it has no emotions nor remorse.
“Leave me alone.” It leaves my lips clipped and razor sharp; deadly enough to cut someone into pieces.
I turn, my shoulder now facing him, my hair acting as a shield and obscuring my face. As I avert my eyes away, I think of all the words I feel right now. Annoyed. Irritated. Aggravated.
And I nearly jump at the sudden contact of his hand on my forearm. His grip is strong but not bone gnashing, yet I feel his fingertips seeping into my skin. I whip my head in his direction and catch his eyes again. They are warm and fervent as ever and I know it will only grow if I try to yank free. The humor that was once there is now gone.
“You always want to be alone...” he trails off and I can only stare back—for a moment.
“Get off of me,” I say it low, practically mumbling, the words barely escaping.
“You never give it a chance—you never want to talk about anything! You’re always running off, running away… to be alone. Is that really what you want?” His grip softens but what he speaks is firm and sharp as ever.
“Get off of me!” I repeat, my mouth full of poison, my arm jerking free. There is a tiny hum in my eardrums and I am tempted to flee.
But before I can even think of an escape, I am grabbed by my shoulders and rammed into the nearest wall. My back hits the concrete and all the breath that circulates in my lungs rushes free. The spot on my shoulders where his hands are burn. The soft humming in my ears transform into that winding, reeling sound again and it is being coiled fast. It turns and tightens with such an intense speed that I am almost deaf.
“Is that what you really want?” He says again, but this time his voice is merely a rasped whisper.
His hands release me and are put on either side of my hand. He is so tall that he casts an entire shadow over me. His chest is broad so there is no entrance forward. His feet are evenly placed so there is no ducking under him. He has trapped me. And he knows it.
I feel my bottom lip quiver and I keep my eyes down. Do not stare at him, do not gaze at him, do not look at him. I still hear that winding sound and it seems as if it is in my heart. He leans forward until we are so close that I can feel the heat that radiates from his skin. This only adds to the warmth that is growing, growing, growing. I feel the flames igniting at my cheeks.
I breathe and instantly regret it. My senses are overwhelmed by him. He smells like summertime after a long, cold winter. Or the scent of rain that finally falls on dry land after so many years. It smells so sweet and so benign and so opposite of what he appears that I can hardly believe that it is him.
It is him. I glance up. I search his expression for something unknown. But all I see are those eyes, how painfully they bore into me. And his lips, which color could only be matched to a dark, almost-desaturated peony. That winding sound does not let up. In fact is grows louder, if it could even do so. It is so loud that I am almost unaware of how heavily we breathe.
His face is flushed at the cheeks and I know mine is no better. He bites into his bottom lip, his teeth dragging across the skin. He licks at the spot for a second, quickly moistening it. He is hovering just above me.
The winding suddenly stops and is replaced by the most uproarious snap.
I am caught.
I am trapped.
And as his lips descend upon mine, he knows it.