Yashi's Writing - Blog Posts

Devansh: My policy is- 'If you see something, say something.'

Eleanor, very happy: I saw a squirrel today!

Devansh, a proud older brother who's used to Eleanor: Outstanding. This is what I'm talking about.

"Flowers don't bloom in darkness and angels aren't born from pain. But she would. She would consume the dark to radiate light."

"She was going to play this vile game of death and it would bleed her dry. Because Eleanor Stareves was all alone in her suffering."

Je t'aime

I love him. Something about the way he loves me. Something about the way he smiles.

He's the sun in spring, shining down on brilliantly colored flowers, and I'm a fallen petal desperately clinging to him.

I come alive with his touch. His mere voice is enough to ruin me. If I could, I would escape reality, to run away with him to someplace holy. If the gods granted me my wish, I would hide away with him to someplace sacred where I may worship the broken statue of love I've built, maddened by his warmth.

I love anger, bitter and blazing. The thing that has driven me, protected me from the world like a blanket of molten lava, forever my hide from the cold of reality. But I love him more. Revenge may be sweet but so is he. He's a cup of hot coffee, a blanket draped around my shoulders. He keeps me from being frozen.

And I love sadness. My only companion for a lonely millennia. The torturous droplets falling from dark rain clouds that bruise my skin. The shadows that coil themselves around me. But my little companion shies away whenever he is near. He is the gentle shelter from a cold downpour. He is the candle that illuminates my world.

My love. My muse.

Oh, how I love my muse.

His beauty is indescribable with mere words or colors or pictures. I write about him but my hands refuse to ache, my words keep flowing as love from my bleeding heart, hoping to tether my soul to his.

Some fall in love with their love. I drowned in his.

And never once have i felt the need to come up for air.