Tag Archives: romance

Heartbreaking Romance.

26 Jul

Oh, heartbreaking romance,

why must you

laugh and point

and rip our poor hearts to shreds?

If… (an original)

26 Jul

If I knelt by your bedside every night

Whispered love songs by morning light,

If I was rich and handsome and strong,

Would it e’er have been me that you long?

If I plucked the stars from the sky

Was fun or spontaneous instead of shy,

If I protected you from all life’s harms

Would I have held you in my arms?

If I did everything in my power

Simply to give you your favorite flower,

Would you have ever considered me,

Or come back if I set you free?

If you could only turn around,

Look at my face, let me be found,

I would do all these and more

It is you that I live for.

Oh, dearest self: so foolish, so silly –

How dare you think she would have looked at me?

For all the “ifs” in all the world,

Would never have her eyelids unfurled.

Now she is buried six feet underground

And she will never come around.


Is this too cheesy? I have another blog on Tumblr that I created yesterday that is solely for writing poems and short stories. I’m thinking about publishing this on my Tumblr blog, but I’m not sure, because it’s so cheesy and cliche, and it’s the first rhyming poem I’ve written in a long time. So, yes or no?

The line that says:

It is you that I live for.

was originally

If you would love me to the core

or something like that.

But I have a feeling that that is just as cheesy.

See, this is why I try to stay away from rhyming poetry. At least, consecutive lines that are rhyming. Sonnets are perfect. ❤

Please check out my poetry and writing blog!


23 Jul

A boy-meets-girl coffeehouse romance.

The warm and mellow sounds of smooth jazz blended with rich, melodious laughter of silken-haired girls wearing neutral-toned shorts or floral dresses suitable for summer, the affable chatter of friends, young and old, and coupled with the thick, ambrosial aroma of finely brewed coffee wafting through the open doorway of the lushly vivacious coffeehouse were enough to melt his resolve to briskly continue home-bound. He walked in, and instantly his body warmed with approval for the shop’s jovial and satisfying contrast to the paradoxical cold summer wind. He meandered around the shop, absorbing into his soul the homely hues of the walls, the abundant glowing lights, the bright smiles and cordial ambiance, and wondered what he was going to order while staring aloof at the faces and beverages of others. Somehow his perambulation brought him to the queue, behind a man with a navy collared shirt and beige khakis. When it was his turn, he smiled at the dark-haired cashier wearing a green apron and said “Can I get a tall Italian Roast?”, handing her a wrinkled five dollar bill from his pant pocket, to which she smiled back, showing her bright teeth, and replied “Coming right up, sir.”

After receiving his Italian Roast, he resumed his calm, careless meandering and unconscious assessment of the various people chatting, typing, smiling, sipping away on wooden, rectangular chairs seated around the warm mahogany wood round or square tables. At least, until he figured that he really needed a place to sit first before getting too lost in thought and quickly re-scanned the room for an empty chair or table to sit at, noting in his mind that it would be better to find an empty table so he would not have to awkwardly disturb another in his business. He was not much one for conversation, being extremely quiet and reserved (people who do not quite know him may even classify him as shy), though his friends often joked that if he was, his handsome, charming looks and gentleman-by-default nature would have all the girls falling at his feet.

He spotted an empty chaise tucked smugly in the corner of the room under a small, round table, and walked over hoping that no one else sat at the table, for he could not see eighty percent of the table from where he stood. But as fast as the thought was registered, he immediately abjured his foolish words the moment he saw her.

She was sitting at the miniature table with only a small coffee cup in the center, wearing a pair of white shorts, a pastel pink top, and black bow-tie flats. Her legs were crossed and hanging over the side of her chair, which was pressed against the wall. Lightly clutching a book in hand, he could tell she was completely and utterly absorbed, lost in another world. Slivers of evening sunlight poured through the glass shop window and illuminated her soft, wavy, auburn hair that fell in light tresses from her heart-shaped face, and she only moved her long pianist fingers with lightly manicured French nails to tuck a loose lock of golden-brown hair behind her ear. Her face seemed as if it was glowing; she was smiling at her book, a subtle, tiny smile, her cheeks had a tint of rosiness to them, her eyes shone through her ebony-framed glasses — her overall visage was radiant with light and life and brilliance. After several seconds of staring, he caught and mentally cursed at himself, took a breath to steady himself, and walked over as calmly as he could. He was merely a foot away from the table when she noticed him and looked up from her book. He was taken off guard, forgetting all about his self-talk about being smooth and friendly and funny and the farthest thing from awkward, and just stood there, mouth hanging open just a bit, when she smiled ever so slightly and put her book down, saying “Well, aren’t you going to sit down and drink your coffee?”, gesturing with her “long pianist fingers” (yes, that is what he named them) to the wooden chair opposite from her. Snapped out of a reverie of sorts (though he would never admit that), he mustered his friendliest smile and greeted her with a too-shy/quiet-sounding “Hi” and bit his lip, looking away, pretending like that. and pulled out the chair, sat down, and set his coffee on the table. An inch from hers, he thought, just before she reached to take a sip from her cup. He peered over at her book and wondered what kind of perfection it was that could make her so excited, so delighted. Pride and Prejudice, it read, in curly gold font. She blushed when she noticed him glancing sideways at her book and admitted sheepishly while covering her face, laughing, “I know, I know, I’m such a hopeless romantic.”

“No!” he said, quickly, just a tad bit too loud. He grinned despite himself. Vocal modulation, much? “No, I mean. I’ve read Pride and Prejudice. It’s really good.”

“You have?” She inquired curiously, eyebrows raised, looking at his face.

“Ah, woops. Wasn’t supposed to mention that. Yeah, I have read it. Uh,  the romance is…” He searched for a word to describe it. “Captivating”, she supplied, smiling widely, dimples showing.

“Yeah, that.” He grinned, leaning forward in his chair. “What else have you read?”

“Hm…I liked Kite Runner, total tearjerker. Angela’s Ashes was beautiful, I read that last week… Wuthering Heights, Emma, Vanity Fair, The Tale of Two Cities, Huckleberry Fin, The Three Musketeers, Gone with the Wind…”

“Woah, how many books have you read?”

“Gosh, a million? I’ve lost count.” They laughed.

“I’ve read some good books, too, but not nearly as many classics as you have”, he said, delighted simply at the fact that they were having a simple conversation. “I liked Da Vinci CodeLord of the Rings is pretty amazing, if you ask me, and The Hitchhiker’s Guide is hilarious.”

“Interesting”, she said, still smiling, with lights dancing in her huge, round, clear orbs called eyes.

And they talked the rest of the evening away, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, tucked away in their own little world in the corner of a small, warm, bustling coffeehouse on the intersection of Addison and Alcott, filled with lights and fragrance and smooth jazz, until the last call for coffee and the shop was time to close.

She gathered her book and jacket in her arms, singing softly along to “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra that was playing in the background. They walked to the front of the shop and he opened the door for her, letting her go first, as the cool wind tugged at strands of her hair. Once they were outside, he knew it was time to go but there was something he had to say to her, something he had to confirm from the girl who conquered all of his attention for an evening, and he knew, many, many, more evenings and days and times to come. And he remembered, smiling to himself, his painfully awkward “hi” and that he never truly greeted her.

“How was your day?” It was a simple question, and simply an excuse for him…

She turned, a silvery light reflecting off her hair, cheeks flushed. He could see a smile playing on her lips, a smile that she tried to contain, at first, then thought the better of. She looked up at his face that was inches away from hers, anxiously awaiting her response, wanting to know more, so much more than what he was able to put into words. Radiant, her face shining bright with the golden luminescence of the shop’s lights and her hair illuminated by moon shards, with her playful smile and a glint in her eyes, and whispered a single word that answered every question swarming his mind and more,


Mon amour, vois-tu les anges? Je ressens leur presence…

20 Oct

“My love, do you see the angels?

I can feel their presence…”

I ADORE this line. It’s so beautiful it makes me want to cry hahahaha <333

Maybe it sounds lame in English, but in French… ❤ :O

AHHHHHHH <33333333


Plus de souffrance, moment de louage,

Je reste a tes cotes, tu peux t’envoler… <333333



~Je Reste a Tes Cotes, de: Mercury City (Cite Mercure)


Romance and Love poems (originals)

5 Sep

~Moonlit Love

As I lay beneath the moonlit sky,

A shooting star catches my eye.

I quickly make wishes and pray they come true

For all I want is more time with you.


The sweet scent of jasmine fills the air

Cool breezes tug at my hair.

Though I know we are far apart,

You’ll be forever in my heart.