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The weather seems alright, beautiful and uptight,
Sweet with less avarice, an endless horizon, and a fleeting sight.
In my world, she was the weather,
I could do anything, but with her, I seem to do better.
Nothing seemed impossible, not even venturing through the Nether.
Effulgent was her presence; enticing, her nature,
The talks kept getting better and better and better,
It felt like the one we were looking for was here to savor.

Malicious and full of grief that once seemed as my future,
Looked like a disoriented thought more than ever.
I remember,
Back in the day when I was wilding,
Beautiful waves of comedic relief were a frequent sighting,
I used to have fun and not fight,
These demons, these thoughts that were always spouting,
Restraining me since I always doubted (myself),
But I knew there's always something,
To get me started,
I relinquished myself from ever doubting.

Nostalgic,
Thought that would be the way to deal with such things,
Big mistake! Because I got apprehended,
Condescending, thoughts got crazy; nobody to talk to, baby.
Misdirection, mazes of maybes, intercepting, decisions hazy,
On second thought, this person's lazy.

Now in a field of darkness, so full of despair,
I found you out of nowhere,
A spark of light and a gasp for air,
That's what I felt when my gaze landed upon you,
That even I could prosper, even by the length of a hair.
I was delighted for that came as a conclusion,
For a long time, I hadn't smiled, but then I did, as if I were adhered,
Sickeningly, any bond I form is doomed to fall, I fear,
Regardless of how much I do, it's always a "Too Sweet" kind of dilemma, my dear,
I don't easily love, but I loved you, even if it was due to my insecurities and issues, I state my mind clear,
Kind of pointless to rant and yap to myself, writing paragraphs upon paragraphs, hoping you'd notice; clowning myself, makes me jeer,
I guess that's how the story goes for a hopeless romantic expecting love to be simple as he was sincere.

With all these melodramatic events, I reckon he could really do some improv,
One such thing is doing a show, but won't it be too rough?
He might become yet another one to bite the dust,
A victim of emotion,
A victim of trust.
Life's predicament is quite harsh and if not for his experience, he'd been lost,
Though sounds drastic and revolting,
Giving up can also be a sign of love,
A hope for emotion,
A hope for trust,
Thus, this lousy "Rascal doesn't dream of falling in love”.

                                                                                      -Asher Graves
There’s an anime called Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai, and it’s one of my absolute favorites. I always wanted to write something inspired by its title — and this piece came out as a result. It's both sentimental and slow-burn, just like the feelings the anime evokes for me.
Lalit Kumar Mar 30
Your fingers begin where words are lost,
tracing slow fire along my skin,
like a whisper, like a promise,
like a prayer only my body understands.

The night hums between us, heavy, electric,
breath tangled with breath,
heat curling at the edges of restraint,
a war we no longer wish to fight.

You taste me like sin, like surrender,
lips parting against mine,
pulling me deeper into the gravity of you,
where the world ceases,
where nothing else matters.

Your hands speak in languages older than time,
lifting, pressing, claiming,
drawing sighs from the depths of me
that only you have ever known.

And then—
bodies collide, slow and aching,
hips meeting in a rhythm carved into the universe,
moans swallowed by open mouths,
by shuddering breath, by the urgency of need.

You bury yourself where I am soft,
where I am fire, where I am yours.
And I let you in, deeper, deeper,
until I no longer know where I end and you begin.

And when we fall—together, undone—
it is not an ending, but a beginning,
a creation, a devotion, a worship,
where love is made, and souls are bound.
Lalit Kumar Mar 26
She never asked him to stay.

Loving Loki was like chasing smoke—always slipping through her fingers just when she thought she had him. He would be there one night, draped over her couch with his usual smirk, spinning a dagger between his fingers. And by morning, he’d be gone, leaving only the ghost of his laughter behind.

It was a game between them. He would disappear. She would pretend not to care.

"Dramatic exits are your specialty, huh?" she teased once.

"Would you prefer I linger?" he had shot back, tilting his head.

She didn’t answer.

But then came the night he didn’t disappear. Not entirely.

That night, when she woke, groggy and reaching for water, she found something on her nightstand. A dagger—his dagger. The handle worn, the blade still warm from where he’d been holding it.

Loki never left things behind.

Her fingers ghosted over the metal. A message, a promise, unspoken.

And just like that, the rules of their game changed.

It became a habit.

When he was gone, the dagger would stay. When he was there, it would vanish from the nightstand and return to his belt. She never mentioned it. Neither did he. But every time she woke and saw it resting there, something in her chest softened.

Until one day, it didn’t return.

Days passed. Then weeks.

She told herself she didn’t care. That he had always been this way. But still, her fingers reached for the spot where it should have been. Empty.

And that was the night she finally broke the rule.

Standing at her window, looking at the stars, she whispered, “Just one more trick, please.”

As if the universe had been waiting for those words, a flicker of green shimmered in the air behind her.

"Missed me, darling?"

She turned, but this time, she didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. Instead, she closed the space between them, pressed a hand to his chest, and whispered back,

"Don’t vanish again."

For once, he didn’t.
Frank Cavalo Nov 2024
You spend more time cradling your shell, lately
Coveting not the flesh of just any man
But the warmth of his skin - only
Tempering your own - rosy
Dulling the mind - *****
And curing the heart’s lonely:

~Ahh… Hare!
Suppose this must be what it means to burn —
Slowly.~
~ tilde is used to indicate italics as I do not comprehend yet how to edit them in
I will admit that I struggle with what I can't give to you. It bugs me.  It eats me up inside.

I see the care and genuine respect that you show me and I want to react. But I can't.  Not in the way I want to do so.

Believe me. I want to do so much.  I want to make grand gestures, promise you the world,  and say the things that my heart hides.

To do so,  would please me, would stoke the embers of my soul.  

But. ..it would station your life,  and I won't do that.

Instead,  I am focused on what I can do. It is not as if I can't show what I feel,  to demonstrate it. I just have to be subtle.

I am,  not by choice,  but by need,  committed to the slow burn. I will leave you with hints;  with clues to piece together.  I will beat around the bush and show you the meaning of restraint.  Because THAT is what I can do.

— The End —