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| | Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. |  |
| | Auteur | Bericht |
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Triptune
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Number of posts : 1162
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| | Onderwerp: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 1 okt 2012 - 20:17 | |
| Katar (onbekend x Onbekend)
- Wulfgar (Katar x Kenye)
Diablo (Onbekend x Onbekend)
- Roque (Diablo x Mayalynde)
Sethnor (Romano x Eleanor)
Tyr (Onbekend x Onbekend)
Kratos (Onbekend x Onbekend)
Laatst aangepast door Triptune op ma 1 okt 2012 - 20:42; in totaal 2 keer bewerkt |
| | | | Triptune
Profile
Number of posts : 1162
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| | Onderwerp: Re: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 1 okt 2012 - 20:25 | |
| 
relatives
Father: Unknown
Mother: Unknown
Siblings: none
Mate: none
Offspring: Roque
Loved ones: Nachtschade, Mayalynde
Friends:none
Knows: Treasure, Sokkepoot, Zehlia, Darlica, Hazel Rah
A blackened heart and a poison mind
I can't recognize the cruel from the kind
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- Spoiler:
I recall once on the church steps, when I moved to kiss your chest. How we paid such close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath. I should’ve stopped to paint our picture, captured honest pure affection just to document the difference between attraction and connection.
I can see all of my friends and and I break into empty buildings when the coast was clear, with backpacks full of beer. We’d throw our bottles from the rooftops at this city-it looked endless. Guess I still don’t see the difference between real purpose and that urgent adolescence.
And I remember in a basement sharing sweat with all these stranger boys and girls, “We’ll change the world!” We sang, “We’ll change the world!” But nothing seems to change and they say none of them will listen. But I still see much more power in that basement than in heartless politicians.
And if we get beaten by this winter, if we get strangled by regret, just let our love of life and tension gasp in sweet and stuttered breaths. And have them lay us in a basement, smash some bottles on the ground, and say we couldn't tell the difference between the feeling and the sound.
Remember not our faulty pieces, remember not our rusted parts. It’s not the petty imperfections that define us but the way we hold our hearts, and the way we hold our heads. I hope they write your names beside mine on my gravestone when I’m dead. And when we’re dead let our voices carry on to find a better song. To find a better song and sing along.
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I recall once on the church steps, when I moved to kiss your chest. How we paid such close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath. I should’ve stopped to paint our picture, captured honest pure affection just to document the difference between attraction and connection.
I can see all of my friends and and I break into empty buildings when the coast was clear, with backpacks full of beer. We’d throw our bottles from the rooftops at this city-it looked endless. Guess I still don’t see the difference between real purpose and that urgent adolescence.
And I remember in a basement sharing sweat with all these stranger boys and girls, “We’ll change the world!” We sang, “We’ll change the world!” But nothing seems to change and they say none of them will listen. But I still see much more power in that basement than in heartless politicians.
And if we get beaten by this winter, if we get strangled by regret, just let our love of life and tension gasp in sweet and stuttered breaths. And have them lay us in a basement, smash some bottles on the ground, and say we couldn't tell the difference between the feeling and the sound.
Remember not our faulty pieces, remember not our rusted parts. It’s not the petty imperfections that define us but the way we hold our hearts, and the way we hold our heads. I hope they write your names beside mine on my gravestone when I’m dead. And when we’re dead let our voices carry on to find a better song. To find a better song and sing along.
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I recall once on the church steps, when I moved to kiss your chest. How we paid such close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath. I should’ve stopped to paint our picture, captured honest pure affection just to document the difference between attraction and connection.
I can see all of my friends and and I break into empty buildings when the coast was clear, with backpacks full of beer. We’d throw our bottles from the rooftops at this city-it looked endless. Guess I still don’t see the difference between real purpose and that urgent adolescence.
And I remember in a basement sharing sweat with all these stranger boys and girls, “We’ll change the world!” We sang, “We’ll change the world!” But nothing seems to change and they say none of them will listen. But I still see much more power in that basement than in heartless politicians.
And if we get beaten by this winter, if we get strangled by regret, just let our love of life and tension gasp in sweet and stuttered breaths. And have them lay us in a basement, smash some bottles on the ground, and say we couldn't tell the difference between the feeling and the sound.
Remember not our faulty pieces, remember not our rusted parts. It’s not the petty imperfections that define us but the way we hold our hearts, and the way we hold our heads. I hope they write your names beside mine on my gravestone when I’m dead. And when we’re dead let our voices carry on to find a better song. To find a better song and sing along.
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- Spoiler:
Laatst aangepast door Triptune op ma 8 okt 2012 - 13:05; in totaal 5 keer bewerkt |
| | | | Triptune
Profile
Number of posts : 1162
Contact
| | Onderwerp: Re: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 1 okt 2012 - 20:30 | |
|  Father: Unknown Mother: Unknown Siblings: none Mate: none Offspring: none Loved ones: none Friends: none Knows: Avanti, Aleera, Aeron, Zehlia, Rayo, Legolas, Terquando, Allen, Shylar "How fine you look when dressed in rage. Your enemies are fortunate your condition is not permanent; and you're lucky, too: red eyes suit so few." | |
- Spoiler:
Kratos
Maybe it was only a childish infatuation or maybe it was a brief moment of insanity.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam at elit eu tortor placerat feugiat at nec purus. Suspendisse nec velit quis sapien dictum pulvinar non non urna. Phasellus quis enim justo. Proin sed est odio. Sed adipiscing, massa at ullamcorper tempus, elit dolor tincidunt dui, nec pretium erat urna eget dui. Donec viverra lobortis mi a rhoncus. Donec vitae lorem vitae elit fermentum gravida eu in magna. Aliquam id mi ante. Fusce ac mi lectus. Praesent auctor ultrices tristique. Nulla eget neque nec leo vehicula gravida. Nulla fermentum adipiscing nibh in dictum. Nulla commodo nibh et felis pharetra consequat. Integer bibendum auctor egestas. Morbi porta eleifend tellus, sodales tempor tortor dictum eget. Curabitur tincidunt, urna sed mattis varius, arcu ante tempus quam, sit amet ultricies nibh orci in massa.
Nullam tristique hendrerit dolor, quis blandit nulla rhoncus a. In aliquam orci quis orci ultrices sollicitudin. Morbi nec malesuada nibh. Donec eu quam vel urna euismod aliquet. Nulla quis quam a magna semper bibendum. Nunc et lacus in dolor pretium porta. Aliquam et nunc at orci commodo egestas. Phasellus tempus hendrerit vehicula.
Maecenas quis dolor vel massa elementum elementum vel id velit. Nunc mattis, est eu tristique placerat, mauris nulla blandit tortor, sit amet euismod diam elit non libero. Etiam nec nulla neque, nec venenatis ante. Donec sit amet facilisis leo. Aenean diam felis, feugiat in sollicitudin a, dignissim eget odio. Sed sit amet lacus nisi. Curabitur in sapien vel leo blandit tristique. Integer dolor nisl, tristique quis mattis vitae, ultrices ac tellus. Vivamus ipsum est, venenatis eget bibendum vel, ultrices eu lacus. Mauris et feugiat nunc. Sed et turpis non sem ultricies interdum eget sed felis. Vestibulum eu mi a purus fringilla iaculis eget non massa. Duis fringilla, sapien ac tempus semper, enim felis egestas est, sed ullamcorper metus nisl id lectus.
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- Triptune schreef:
Kratos
Maybe it was only a childish infatuation or maybe it was a brief moment of insanity.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam at elit eu tortor placerat feugiat at nec purus. Suspendisse nec velit quis sapien dictum pulvinar non non urna. Phasellus quis enim justo. Proin sed est odio. Sed adipiscing, massa at ullamcorper tempus, elit dolor tincidunt dui, nec pretium erat urna eget dui. Donec viverra lobortis mi a rhoncus. Donec vitae lorem vitae elit fermentum gravida eu in magna. Aliquam id mi ante. Fusce ac mi lectus. Praesent auctor ultrices tristique. Nulla eget neque nec leo vehicula gravida. Nulla fermentum adipiscing nibh in dictum. Nulla commodo nibh et felis pharetra consequat. Integer bibendum auctor egestas. Morbi porta eleifend tellus, sodales tempor tortor dictum eget. Curabitur tincidunt, urna sed mattis varius, arcu ante tempus quam, sit amet ultricies nibh orci in massa.
Nullam tristique hendrerit dolor, quis blandit nulla rhoncus a. In aliquam orci quis orci ultrices sollicitudin. Morbi nec malesuada nibh. Donec eu quam vel urna euismod aliquet. Nulla quis quam a magna semper bibendum. Nunc et lacus in dolor pretium porta. Aliquam et nunc at orci commodo egestas. Phasellus tempus hendrerit vehicula.
Maecenas quis dolor vel massa elementum elementum vel id velit. Nunc mattis, est eu tristique placerat, mauris nulla blandit tortor, sit amet euismod diam elit non libero. Etiam nec nulla neque, nec venenatis ante. Donec sit amet facilisis leo. Aenean diam felis, feugiat in sollicitudin a, dignissim eget odio. Sed sit amet lacus nisi. Curabitur in sapien vel leo blandit tristique. Integer dolor nisl, tristique quis mattis vitae, ultrices ac tellus. Vivamus ipsum est, venenatis eget bibendum vel, ultrices eu lacus. Mauris et feugiat nunc. Sed et turpis non sem ultricies interdum eget sed felis. Vestibulum eu mi a purus fringilla iaculis eget non massa. Duis fringilla, sapien ac tempus semper, enim felis egestas est, sed ullamcorper metus nisl id lectus.
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- Spoiler:
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| | | | Triptune
Profile
Number of posts : 1162
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| | Onderwerp: Re: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 1 okt 2012 - 20:32 | |
|
And its haunting me, but I feel fine
War of worlds in real time |
- Spoiler:
Karakter
Geteisterd door flashbacks maar vol van hoop is een combinatie die tot spanning kan leiden in Tyrs hoofd. Het ene moment is hij degene die iedereen wil zijn: vol van vertrouwen en een waterval van woorden, een nooit eindigende bron van vreugde. Maar het heeft maar een kleine aanleiding, een kleine trigger nodig, om hem volledig angstig of agressief te maken. Iets kleins wat hem wederom doet denken aan de dingen die hij heeft gezien. Alhoewel er stukken zijn verdwenen uit zijn geheugen - zoals bepaalde gesprekken en gebeurtenissen - hebben die stukken nu de neiging om één voor een terug te komen. In zijn dromen of juist net niet. Het maakt hem volledig onvoorspelbaar en daarom soms ook onbetrouwbaar. Het meeste van de tijd vallen zijn touwtjes niet aan elkaar te knopen. Hij valt niet te ontrafelen want dat heeft hij zelf ook nog niet gedaan. Vandaag is het begin van een eindeloos verwerkingsproces.
Geschiedenis
Al vanaf de geboorte was het vrij duidelijk: Tyr was een hengst met doorzettingsvermogen, kracht en had een passie om te overleven en dat was nodig. De hengst had het ongelukkige toeval gehad om ter wereld te komen in een indianenstam die weldra zou uitrukken om oorlog te voeren. Mocht het jonge ding niet zo veelbelovend zijn dan hadden ze hem achtergelaten om daarna weg te kwijnen en uiteindelijk te sterven. Maar Tyr had elke eigenschap die ze nu konden gebruiken en die ze zochten in paarden. Trouw, volhardend, dapper. Hij werd toegewezen aan een jonge indiaan die de naam Yuma, wat zoveel betekende als 'zoon van het stamhoofd'. Het was allerminst een goed paar te noemen, als Yuma een hoefijzer was dan paste hij perfect onder Tyrs hoef. Twee handen op één buik.
Enkele jaren gingen voorbij en Tyr was slechts drie jaar oud toen hij al als een volwassen hengst bereden werd. Ze voelden elkaar perfect aan en er was noch drang noch verwondingen aan toe gekomen. Het mocht echter niet baten: wanneer Yuma zes maanden later wordt opgeroepen om te gaan vechten moest ook Tyr mee en het was een zware tijd. Er waren niet enkel wonden en bloed vergiet, ook Tyrs mentale schild werd zwakker. Hij werd moe, zwakker en zijn laatste krachten waren krachten die niet sterk genoeg waren. Natuurlijk wou de hengst zijn ruiter beschermen, natuurlijk wou hij voorkomen wat er gebeurde...
Het was een man op een zwarte hengst die hen tegemoet kwam, wiens paard steigerde en Tyr bewusteloos sloeg met diens voorhoeven. Wat kon hij anders dan als een lappenpopje neervallen? Hij had geen strijdkracht meer, hij had niets meer te bieden. Zijn laatste beetjes waren vanonder uit de emmer gescharreld... Hij moest een hele tijd bewusteloos hebben gelegen, want toen hij ontwaakte was er niet meer veel van de voorbije veldslag te zien. Het was niet vreemd: ze voerden overal een beetje oorlog. Waar uitgemoord kon worden, moordden ze elkaar uit. Maar dan nog, er was niets meer over van het gevecht. Enkel de lijken van andere paarden en indianen, gebroken pijlen en bogen, lichamen waar bijlen inzaten... En waar was Yuma? Nergens. Tyr had vol walging het terrein doorzocht, maar er was geen Yuma.
Natuurlijk had Tyr wel een stel hersens en kon hij zijn stam terugvinden. Het was ook niet zó ver. Dat was de hoofdreden dat ze moesten uitrukken: de andere stam kwam te dichtbij en hij moest gaan verdedigen. Met het zicht dat hij net had gehad en een kloppend hart in zijn keel keerde hij weer naar de plek die ooit zijn thuis was. Maar 'thuis' was niet meer zo huiselijk als het voorheen was. Erger nog: er was amper nog huis. Geen tipis. Geen hekken. Geen lopende kinderen. Enkel smeulende resten en assen van dingen die ooit die 'thuis' voorstelde. De geur van rottende, zachtjes pruttelende lijken liet de hengst braakneigingen krijgen - en dat zou zijn gelukt, moest het mogelijk zijn voor paarden om te braken.
Met dat laatste beeld is de hengst vertrokken van daar, want ach ja, wat meer kan je doen? Daar blijven zitten kniezen, in je eentje? Hopend dat er nog iemand van de stam terugkwam? Ze hadden verloren, en dat moest de hengst accepteren. Hij moest accepteren dat hij buiten de strijd, ook zijn geliefde mensen had verloren.
- Spoiler:
And its haunting me, but I feel fine
War of worlds in real time |
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| | | | Triptune
Profile
Number of posts : 1162
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| | Onderwerp: Re: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 1 okt 2012 - 20:33 | |
| Chesire Cat
"How fine you look when dressed in rage. Your enemies are fortunate your condition is not permanent; and you're lucky, too: red eyes suit so few."
"Only the foolish believe suffering is just wages for being different."
"Confront what frightens or offends you. Reckless or insulting talk should never go unchallenged."
"Forgetting pain is convenient. Remembering it, agonizing. But recovering the truth is worth the suffering. And our Wonderland, though damaged, is safe in memory... for now."
"Different denotes neither bad nor good, but it certainly means 'not the same'."
"Seek and ye shall find they say, but they don't say what you'll find."
Alice
"Is it mad to pray for better hallucinations?"
Mad Hatter
"Forgetting's just forgetting, except when it's not. Then they call it something else. I'd like to forget what you did. I've tried, but I can't."
"Bad timing. Pity. Reliable help is so hard to find these days." |
| | | | Triptune
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Number of posts : 1162
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| | Onderwerp: Re: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 1 okt 2012 - 23:59 | |
| You know that hope you're holding to? It looks an awful lot like fear.
Oh, but you had option. I was your chance to feel complete, but when I leaned in close to you, you kissed your fear instead of me.
My girl, you must understand that fear is not some product that I made. It crept unwelcome in my head the day they had her torn away. It changed me.
Now at the end of everyday I lie awake at night and wait to feel the wires of my brain get cut and quietly rearranged, and hear my beaten heart exclaim, 'Still, I refuse to let her go.'"
So we escape to our mistakes for they wait patiently for us. Oh, how they always wait for me.
If my fear has kept me here only my fear can set me free.
And I'm sorry, dear, but don't you dare say another word.
How could I risk holding your heart in me while still in love with her?
I thought I heard a plane crashing, but
Now I think it was your passion snapping.
I think you saw me confronting my fear, it went up with a bottle and went down with the beer and I think you ought to stay away from here. There are ghosts in the walls and they crawl in your head through your ear.
I think I saw you in my sleep, lover,
I think I saw you in my dreams you were
Stitching up the seams on every mangled promise
That your body couldn't keep.
I think I saw you in my sleep.
And how we've trembled at the way that time's
assembled little fires of desire in the tundra of our skin.
So, do yourself a little favor, savor every time you waver
for that shaking in my voice was only slyly feigned chagrin.
Oh, Lover, uncover. I know it's warm beneath your sheets
and there is ice along the streets but listen—Lover, we will recover.
But we've no time to waste with meddling in affairs
You've opened my window but broken the glass.
"Rise!" Said the King to the River, "Never let up! No, bring us a flood and bring it hard!" "Freeze!" Said the Wind to the Water, "Never give in! No, build us a bridge! And build it strong and angry. Let it stills the King's decree.
"Rise!" Said the Boy to his Lover, "Darling, get up. I've brought you my love, and brought it far!" "Leave!" Said the Girl to her lover, "I've given in. If love is a bridge, we built it wrong."
She meant it, I swear that she meant it, she whispered so often, 'Husband, I'll always be here with you.' But always is always and always is valueless. I wish I'd never heard her speak a word.
I guess love's a funny thing—the way it fades away without a warning. It doesn't ask to be excused. And when it's gone—oh, it's gone—and it ain't ever comin' back. There is nothing you can do to save it, to make it breathe the way it did when you were sliding on the ring. Trust me: It's gone for good. Now there is nothing you can do to stop me. She is happy when she is with me and I am finally alive. I'm sorry.
I spoke too soon, it seems, for you made a home in my dreams.
So I breathed her name out into a cold, cold room, watched her ghost ascend the walls and then dissolve, "This time I choose to let her go. I will not let my fear become the only world I've ever known. I know my heart, kiss my mouth, set me free - I've wounds to mend. And we'll be more than friends, my dear; I fear I've changed my mind again."
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| | | | Triptune
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| | Onderwerp: Re: Behind those eyes, diamonds turn to sand. ma 8 okt 2012 - 12:54 | |
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