[x]

Love Songs to the MoonHe's lonely, just another dreamer-boy with his head in the clouds.
For a boy who would never be loved, he had so much love in him.

She runs her tongue along her teeth. Are you afraid of dragons? she asks.
I imagine her with scales and wings, breathing fire. I tell her no, I'm a knight in shining armour.
Oh, she says with mock seriousness, you're fearless then.
I'm afraid, I say softly, I'm afraid of falling.
She leans in close. I feel her breath on my lips as she whispers, What about falling in love?
I forget how to breathe. The world starts to spin and I close my eyes.

Then she kisses me full on the mouth and my spine turns to feath

summertime.i've realized i miss you most in the summer. when we were together, we belonged to the cold; trees would lose their leaves, winter winds would blow, but the summer was ours. it was a time when we could leave essays and exams behind and start dreaming. a time for stargazing and raindancing and treeclimbing. for the wild. for us.

i feel so out of place. in the light of a bonfire or the wind of a highway, i find myself thinking: you would have loved this. and i get lost in memories of running through a subway station, reaching for lights across the dark ocean or swinging by a lake and dangling our feet in the stars.

this has always been a seas

Like an Unfinished Love PoemShe calls him a poet but in truth he's just a dreamer with too many words in his head. He doesn't believe that he's fallen in love so he pretends to be a lovestruck stranger and writes how it might feel.
When I touch her lips with mine,
I'm not smiling,
not feeling,
breathing,
—

I'm just living.When she said goodbye her heart pounded weakly against her heavy chest. With every pulse of blood through her veins she felt tension in her wrists; she was holding back, holding back. Her breastbone still feels like the wall of a jail cell – her heartbeat thumping wildly like a prisoner begging to be freed. She wants to rip off her jacket be

King of HeartsAnd that's when I see him for the first time. The boy. The magician. The thief. The king.

He's facing away from me, on the sidewalk with a small crowd around him. Shirtless, with dirty ripped jeans and bare feet. Crudely painted swirls of ink cover his torso and ripple over his small shoulder blades. His white blonde hair is laced with gel and spiked haphazardly. There's a small chain around his neck.

Despite his bizarre appearance I can't help wonder how old the boy is.
He's just a kid.

The crowd around him applauds lightly. They toss him a few coins and walk away.
He turns around. Right away I notice his eyes, a startlingly light blue

ResilienceWhen I was young, I loved to watch my father work. I used to think sparks were dangerous, so I would sit far enough away that the fire could not reach me. But I could still feel the heat, watching sparks rise high into the smoky air.

I was terrified of darkness. I would sleep with a candle burning to protect me, but shadows invaded my dreams. I pretended I was a dragon, filled with flames. Fearless.

Defiant.

No one believes in dragons anymore. No one believes in fire, either. I've grown up into the age of electricity, where fire is too hot and too wild to touch. Why risk burning yourself when light and heat are ready at the flip of a switc

Let's Call This the BeginningHe turned back towards me and held out his hand. I reached forward, watching his chest rise and fall underneath his shirt. I imagined his lungs were full of wind; there was a storm hidden behind his teeth and we were going to run away together to fly kites and watch the clouds chase the sun across the horizon. Our fingers touched and my imagination raced; we were holding hands at midnight in the city, climbing rooftops and racing shooting stars across the empty streets. He closed his hand around mine and our shoulders brushed.

That's when I realized I was lonely.

It became one of the many things I avoid telling people. Like sometimes I have

Elegant

His fingers were elegant.

They worked in perfect rhythm to produce everything he could not say. Where I could only ever hear notes and simple emotion, he heard stories, saw worlds.

I used to envy him, to hide my hurt gaze behind his shoulder blades, to rest my jealousy on his thin, tired shoulders.

His fingers were beautiful.

They danced over the keys; they made the masters look like child's play; they shamed my clumsy attempts at carrying a tune without malice.

I used to long to be him – I would have given anything to have his talent, his skill. Anything was worth the fingers that never failed.

His soul was transcendent.

I coul

Across the OceanI stood outside in the rain today. I know it sounds cliché, but the steady drumming of raindrops drowned out the beat of my heart and I swear I could hear you crying.I've never felt as complete as I did then.Let's just pretend that you didn't break my heart. I'll bandage my bleeding knuckles and go find that fake smile you left behind.
I won't be lonely. We'll pretend I'm happy standing outside in the wet; these are raindrops, not tears. I'll give you every excuse I have to offer, and someday when the rain clouds disappear I'll realize that I'm just talking to the sky.I've run out of words, you know. I can feel it.When it started raini

Wishing for Something"I wish we could be together."
"Yeah," he says, "I wish a lot of things."

In the silence, he realizes that he's terrified of her. Of what she might mean. There's so much that he could tell her, but the words he longs to speak stick in his throat, leaving him breathless.

She smiles, golden in the sunset, and blows on a dying dandelion. The gossamer seeds fly away as she looks at him tightly and tilts her head towards him. Looking at the faint curve of her lips, he knows exactly what she wished for.

Oh long-lost boy, this is the moment you always wanted, the moment you hoped would never come.

He kisses her, because what else is he suppose

ErsatzHe has danger painted on his lips
and a terrifying truth hidden under his bed.

And I'm the only one who knows
he got a tattoo for his thirteenth birthday
that makes his skin look like it's
on fire.

You know,
girls say he's the hottest boy in ninth grade.
He's burning up.

But he doesn't care for them

because he's secretly in love with Sam
[who, obviously, doesn't have a clue].
No one does.

But how long can you keep your secrets, pseudo-boy,
before you lose yourself?

He takes a look around him
and destroys as many people as he can
so he won't be hurt

again.

spare change.so i dreamt of you last night.

as usual, you are with me, but as usual, i can't find you. so i scream your name, again and again until my throat goes raw and i wake, with my fists clenched, swallowing my sobs.

and i see him there, lying peacefully on his side, stray strands of hair fluttering under his breath as he sleeps. i look at him and your name pops into mind, but it's wrong.

i fear i'll say something i shouldn't, and he'll just love me more. i know when he wakes, he'll flash me a smile that breaks hearts. he'll ask for a morning kiss, and that's when your name will run repeatedly over and over in my head and spill over onto my lips.

Writing Fairytales I told him, "I think I'll write a book."

He said, "Do it right, November. Write a best-seller and send me a copy with your autograph on the inside cover."

"I can do better than that," I promised, our fingers intertwined for the last time, "I'll write the best damn book you've ever read. It'll tell the story of lost love and lost innocence, of found friends and staying out too late on a cold night, and the story of endings without closure. It'll be about boys and girls and break-ups and hook-ups and how everything happens in the backseat of cars."

"They'll interview you on television because everyone wants to know who inspired the story

Le vent du coeurI pretend
the pulse of rain
is a lullaby —

when I say your name
it feels like
thunder in my lungs

— and the howling wind,
sometimes,
sings me to sleep.

Says the monster,"It's awfully lonely being this scary."

Searching for the SunI.

The day everything ended, she was standing in a parking lot, weary from a long day of departures and destinations, staring up at the sky. Clouds strolled west, their armfuls of grey dripping out of their grasp and spattering onto the asphalt, onto her upturned face. They rolled and crashed into one another, piling up high in the stratosphere like mountains of cottony stone. Once, they had been at war, and their arguments had sliced across the countryside with the recklessness of a summer fire. Now, though, something had calmed them. Perhaps they were tired from their travel like her, or perhaps it was the sun, gently wedging them apart wi

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Never Enough        Big brother looks so broken, all covered in tubes and needles. I want to rip them out of his wrists and take him home. I want him to play with me and laugh like he used to.

        My little brother stands in the doorway of my hospital room. I hate to see him cry. He looks so alone.
        He blinks through his tears and looks at me mournfully, "Mum and Dad say there's a way for me to help you."
        I feel a rush of adrenalin and look away from him, watching my heart r

Injection        She gripped my arm tightly and looked at me with eyes as black as sin. "This won't hurt."
        I nodded, not meeting her gaze. "I know."
        "I promise."

        I wasn't looking, but I still felt the needle. She held my hand and ripped my skin apart, whispering lovely burning pain. I felt the cold in my veins as my pulse quickened and I forgot how to breathe.
        I can't even describe the agony she gave me. I felt fire in

With the Strength of a Child        His ripped shirt is barely visible in the dust and smoke. He kneels in the rubble, bloody faded jeans loose on his hips, tan skin lined with ragged cuts and bruises underneath. Long dark hair, now dusty white and matted with blood, ripples in the wind like a tattered flag of surrender.
        He can't feel the pain.

        Broken jaws whisper of sadness.
        Broken voices scream of loss.

        And his broken eyes turn toward t

Bleeding HeroHow can I explain my feelings to you? My bitter, tarnished love, how it burns in my throat like too much soda. How I hate that I love you more than you know. But I love you all the same.

I am the burnt-out streetlight under the falling night sky. The fleeting joy of a balloon that slips away to the clouds. And I'm sick of band-aids that don't work, I'm sick of being the bleeding hero.

Don't you realize what I'm worth? You dropped me like a penny on the street corner and everything went black. I gave you a choice and you ripped my love to shreds.

Love isn't what I read about in sweet-dream magazines. It's not worth the doubt, but

An Angel's DespairThe throbbing pain against her ripped jeans had gone numb, as had the cold bloodstained pavement, covered with shattered glass. In the whirling haze of lashing wind she could still see the thundering clouds of night. She whispered in darkness, rain wet against her cracked lips, "I broke my wings."

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For Sarah, Forever Ago

by =jonathoncomfortreed, Mar 4, 2012, 3:25:06 PM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Letters

_{I worked the midnight shift last night. It was the sort of night where you body feels so heavy that your mind just starts floating away. I was exhausted, worn. Sleep reached for my heart like a vigilante reaching for a gun, and I couldn't stop thinking of you.

You filled my head with poetry.

I could write something beautiful, that it was a clear night and the stars were out, that the moon shone above me like a love song in the sky. But it wasn't. The clouds were low and heavy and the streetlights painted the sky orange.

It was the kind of night that makes you feel trapped. The kind when there's no one alive but you, no sound but your heartbeat, a wolf howling and a siren in the distance. The kind when I decided that the world isn't big enough for us. The nights that turn into sunrises – the sunrises that break apart the horizon and pull the breath from your lungs.

You know the nights I'm talking about.

The nights when the wind lashed our lips like we were sky-sailing to the stars. The nights for trespassing, for climbing buildings and laughing at our vertigo. For singing too late and smiling too much. The nights for falling in love some day.

For cross dressing and throwing up our hands at the world. For holding hands and falling down and flying away, talking to strangers and stumbling through life.

The nights where we realized maybe we don't have to grow up, and maybe we'll last forever. When we held those perfect moments up to a match and struck a chord.

The nights when we set the world on fire.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling brave, I'm not afraid of growing up. Because you gave me the best childhood there ever was.

At 1:43 I saw a shooting star. Instead of wishing, I whispered your name.}

For Sarah, Forever Agoby =jonathoncomfortreed

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Letters

Inspiration
It's true, I worked the midnight shift. Out in the city at night, my thoughts started wandering. Like a group of kids lost in a forest, they found their way back, I guess.

I wrote this as a tribute to the nights we had. In some ways it feels like they're long gone, you know? and in other ways it seems like they'll never end.

Technique
I've wanted to write this for a long, long time. I just never felt like I had time to get it done. Yesterday, ~Solarune messaged me to let me know that ^thorns' Word Wars chat event was happening with #theWrittenRevolution. I dropped in for the last two rounds and – amazingly – wrote this. It was an incredible fifteen minutes, and I think I'll be eternally grateful to ^thorns and the rest of the tWR admins for putting the chat event together because it forced me to write – for the first time in months.

The title is a reference to a song (and album) by Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago
(For the record, I like him before he won whatever award he won.

)

I could write down all of the memories that inspired this, about watching the sun rise on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, or playing on a swing set kicking our feet at the moon, but I really don't want to. Those memories are better left a close and distant perfection. :]

P.S. Listen to this song.

Special Mentions
*WanderingHere, of course.

*IndigoSkyes helped me critique this in a really wonderful way.

Thank you.

Groups
For #theWrittenRevolution members (critique): Is my writing too disorganized here? Do you get something out of it, even though you don't share the memories I'm referring to? What did you think of the transition from the night during which I was working and the reminiscence of the nights we shared?

Other Deviations
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© 2012 Jonathon Reed
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~TheMoorMaiden Jul 3, 2012 Student Writer

This is a beautiful piece.

You have a wonderful talent for creating stunningly vivid images, and I loved the carefree feeling the entire piece emanated. In the second line, should it be 'your' rather than 'you'? It was just something I picked up on. Other than that I think this is gorgeous. Wonderful work!

=DailyLitDeviations Jul 2, 2012

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article.

~MidnightSun16 Apr 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

_{I'm finally done my first year of college, which was amazing... but honestly, I'm glad it's done and even happier that now, I will have time - actual time! - to unleash my creative spirit.

I'm so eager to learn, to experience, to fuel my dreams.
I'm bursting at the edges of my own mind, and it's the greatest feeling I have ever felt.

So you could only imagine my excitement at all the literature awaiting me to read them. Lucky me, your works were waiting for me too.

This is beautiful..
My favourite line was the last one.
"At 1:43 I saw a shooting star. Instead of wishing, I whispered your name."

Your words are forever and always ordinary magic (and I tell you this way too often, but it's true!)
I think you works reflect freedom, childhood bliss, and fiery passion in a manner, I have yet to find anywhere else.

You're amazing.
And Some day, I'd like to meet you. Some day.}

`Quolia Mar 31, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Hello

Your lovely artwork has been featured in my latest news article, Spreading the DA Love: Vol. 12

It would mean so much to me if you could

the article to help spread the dA love

Thank you & keep up the fantastic work!

~ilyilaice Mar 29, 2012

this is very pretty, and reading it fills me with longing. your writing is lovely.

=HtBlack Mar 22, 2012

, lotssss.

~anapests-and-ink Mar 18, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It certainly didn't feel disorganized. I thought it flowed quite well from one memory to the next. It sort of gently wanders from your midnight shift to your memories. "You filled my head with poetry" is a perfect transition. The memories you refer to seem so strong and unique; I found myself wishing I had experienced them all myself.

This is a beautiful piece.

$namenotrequired Mar 14, 2012 Student Interface Designer

This made me think of lovely memories ;__;

I loved this part in particular;

The kind when there's no one alive but you, no sound but your heartbeat, a wolf howling and a siren in the distance. The kind when I decided that the world isn't big enough for us. The nights that turn into sunrises – the sunrises that break apart the horizon and pull the breath from your lungs.

*TheKnell Mar 13, 2012 Writer

I read this, and it felt like home. If that makes any sense at all. Lovely work!

~IndigoSkyes Mar 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

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