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About Literature / Hobbyist AmeliaFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Laura :icongrodpro:grodpro 273 37 Theory Of Machines :iconkuldarleement:KuldarLeement 1,684 45 Sunset :iconnovaillusion:novaillusion 668 34 Paths Through Time :iconspiritofdarkness:Spiritofdarkness 802 181 Baker :iconjasperholland:JasperHolland 409 55 Olli :iconconnygrins:connygrins 277 12 Red Beauty :iconcatherinecayden:CatherineCayden 307 24 Condense Kitchen :icondriftermanifesto:drifterManifesto 393 29 Ygritte :icondalisacg:dalisacg 16,619 714 Table lamp XXIV - Stilla :iconcalabarte:Calabarte 380 31
Journal
Literature DD Round Up: January 2016
:iconthemaideninblack: Features by TheMaidenInBlack


:iconliliwrites: Features by LiliWrites
Social Media by TgirlValentineDFC 2015 Day 15: Phantasmagoria by MadPrinceFeanorChange in a Coffee Cup by Frank-JaspersMidnight by VoicesInTheCanyon12:37 a.m. by blispiralNervous System by akrasielWelcome Relief by HaegunDFC 2015: 1. Outliving Fear by kiwi-damnationMom, What's a Vagina? by Emerald-AlexandriaCalifornia by KittifyAll I wanted by beeinthebottleThis is Irony by MozartsNemesisThe Specific Abstract by pulbernHospital Poetry: Half Moons by Rosary0fSighs
:iconhugqueen: Features by HugQueen
monsoon season by dietcocainea good way to start by BipolarBearDisorderthe smell of cyanide in the morning. by DameVulpes
As always, an extra special thank you to our wonderful suggester this month, PennedinWhite, inknalcohol, ObsydianDreamer, DC-26, MagicalJoey, RogueMudblood, brennenxr, co
:iconLiliWrites:LiliWrites
:iconliliwrites:LiliWrites 12 7
Journal
Fluorescent.
801 watchers?! Okay that's a crazy number - I don't think I've even met that many people in my life :faint:
So again, thank you to everyone who has watched me since way back when (Iloveyouall:la:) and a big welcome to my new watchers - it's my final year of uni so uploads and replies will be a bit sporadic but I promise I will always get back to any notes or comments at some point!
Anyways, here are some of my fave literature pieces I've come across on dA in the last few months as a massive thank you gift :dalove:Dance! 


bloody Mary by ohsostarryeyedon sleeping with a friend by diddlyhohumtumblr boy. by crystallized-skieson distance by EsotericHeart after the party. by littleblueraccoon The Month of October by muscularteeth
:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet
:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet 12 36
L :iconkakaoconad:kakaoconad 498 15 The Bridge :iconmariposa-nocturna:mariposa-nocturna 3,246 88 never again... :iconbezwzglednaryba:BezwzglednaRyba 68 3 Stardust :iconweremoon:weremoon 1,015 65
Go and watch these amazingly amazing artists! Your day shall be better!

Newest Deviations

Literature
How a Grandmother Leaves You
He does not look at the loosened light,
murdered, sprayed on the walls in a temporary graffiti, rotting lumps of it swept under her bed
along with nine pairs of slippers, papery sheets of it tearing thinner than a yellowed wedding veil
across her blankets.
I hold her skin that smells like decomposing paper and fuzz,
that turns to milk to cinnamon to coffee grounds
beneath an entangled net of veins zigzagging up the wispy bones of her arms.
I do not know how many times I have mistaken the feeling of marble for her hands,
or the dumb slapping of flip flops on sidewalks for the snapping of wings.
I can hear charred pots that look like trash cans, gurgling,
digesting something embryonic in thick kitchen sauces, fickle and tangy.
Around her she has clothed the sparse, looming woods on balding heads,
and scratchy scalps on furniture
in plastic jackets to prevent them from aging alongside her.
The withering afternoon wears a sunhat, broad and wheat-yellow as it heaves itself to her bedside,
b
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Literature
When The White Mountains Go Hungry
I would gladly give  my set of china cups tattooed with flowers, that stack and ring, that I am told never to use, my skin, sore and tender and splintering, for what is left of your bare teeth,
soft, and gums laced with copper wire. I want to feel what it’s like to have my veins charged.
In dreams I only wear golden anklets, heavy and bright, in the shape of snakes, twisting tightly around my calves, because I am too young to know that they could pull me down
by my clanking ankles the moment I step off the bed. And I ask you what about your lips, reattached using tape and all the glue you could find. Where have they been. You answer,
in the warm air of our mouths what was once filled with dust is filled with snow,
and we must live with it.
You trace the pair of them with lipstick like a child coloring with a crayon. It looks like your mouth is leaking with blackberries before I wake.
I once heard that in Arabic my name means by the sea, someone who eats the smooth fragments
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Literature
Dear Julia
Julia, I dreamt I plucked the moon from the sky between my forefinger and thumb,
and that your face was a roadmap, that your hair was the crosshatchings of subway trails,
that your bones were the coarse paths worn by visionaries, that your lips were scraped bare
like city streets, that your skin was scratched blue like notes scrawled in margins, that your teeth
were the dead ends and the lost compass needles of travelers.
Maps were unraveling all over your eyes.
Julia, I am worried about time.
I know how much the human soul weighs; I carried one last weekend.
It was like a bird,
so throbbing and alive it seemed to be kicking against my closed hands.
The old man across the street has found cigarettes again. His hair is smoke,
and he breaks the necks of his chickens
just to hear the bones cracking.
Julia, I wanted to be loved the way you love a language.
I wanted silence to shimmer between us before slithering away beneath an empty moon.
Or if I was miraculously whol
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Literature
Love as Street Art
You are surrounded by tissue paper leaves that you’d like to think are Iranian carpets
embroidered with a kaleidoscope of fractals and vines. You imagine a ring
in the form of a spider that climbs your thumb, its thin angles studded with rubies,
intertwining its golden body with yours until you trace its hardness with your fingertips.  
There are fluttering curtains of shaggy-headed trees, billowing fabrics
that drape over your arms. At your feet you think of the hides
of large animals from Venezuela and Mali. Asphalt is the exalted skin of the elephant.
You should have felt the cut of slanting light as dawn
released its tentative embrace, and seen how the yoke sun
cracked over burnt crusts of sky,
but the rain undressed you,
no, ravaged you,
and left the world photocopied.
He leaves footprints in your rug.
As he drinks the water that’s been pooling in your calves, you notice
how his enamored eyes look like the distance between the last place and this one.
Your lips ar
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Literature
The Difference Between Hot and Cold
We were afraid that our adulthoods
would be yellow with dustfall,
that someone would be there like a candle, who is brief and scrutable and warm, who reminds us
of our fathers, and who leaves like an open window.
Our mothers taught us how a life made of glass was a spectacle.
What magnificent women we would be with wool hats that would never shrink,
with bodies like heat waves,
with hands with wrinkles that we’re told mean something.
They taught us how to find solace in the brushstrokes of dusk, when the insects are taciturn,
no wings to chatter on glass, in rosary beads, cool to the touch,
that shone and swayed around their necks like drops of water. They found their roundness comforting.
They made heat palatable, made it scurry down our arms in sweet, sticky lines.
They unzipped watermelons and set them apart like two lungs, rheumy and irritated,
slit olives open like black eyes, lined up celery like vertebrae, and tore off the armor
of pomegranates and bit into their hearts, t
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Literature
Missing Girls
Hands, searching through the dark, had found her and pulled,
uprooted her like how all life begins.
It wasn’t released in the papers, how her body was hauled from the poisoned womb
of the swamp that was carpeted with algae, her eyes filled with the thick rain
that had come like the sound of children’s feet a day earlier,
her arms stiff, frigid, and slippery, her lungs frozen,
suspended tubes of water.
There was no one to heave hot sweat and tears and saliva
upon hearing the thud of a wet back
against dry, heavy boots that slid deep into the mud. No one to caress and clutch  
at the tangled, muddy hair that had begun to dry and crumble, the gritty brown figure
who had been extracted like an anomaly from the enveloping throat of the earth.
They guessed that she drew in breaths of moonlight
before clouds fell and the cuff of the moon shattered.
She is just a sleeper, now.
It wasn’t released that the man who had embalmed her body, oils and fluids running down his arm
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Literature
Space is a Sort of Petrichor
The universe will bruise if it is held for too long,
like fingers that might clench a long, obsequious throat
until it feels like there’s a marble lodged there, clattering against a fence of teeth.
But we think we are old enough now to wear a coat
that makes us look big and small at the same time,
and to wear shoes that make us tumble and stutter along sidewalks.
In clouds like wet piles of clothes left to dry through the day,
ribboned veins palpitate with bodies in planes
tucking out of view,
beating over our heads
like red hooves.
A moon dangles like a tusk over a thrashing fire,
a spotlight, loud upon millions of pale, upturned faces.
The sky’s metals spin like hands crossing in the dark,
tugged onward like an arrow pointing to somewhere we think is ahead.
It is a fascination, like someone we almost loved, and
the mechanics, the deafening static of life that is nearly silence, the heat of it all
is not a clean space, sterile,
not one of flat surfaces like unbroken lakes,
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Literature
The Sound of Wings Flapping in Exhibit 2a
In museums, glass melts around me
Pale-eyed cavemen with their hunched mounds of flesh
Thick bodies
That are the statues of an ambiguous
Forgotten physique
Dinosaur bones are picked clean and disquietingly posed
Swaying, snapping shapes
Heads like unzipped rocks
A colossal anachronism
To smile toothily at the entrance
Rocks in glass cases glint beneath
Light with a celestial touch
Breaking upon things that look
Like towers of glass fingers
Layers of yellow paper
Crumbs from some important crag
The air cool and black except for glimmering geological hunks that could float
Weightless throughout the room
And there are owls
Who have been suspended from the ceiling in mid-flap for some time now
Some moonfaced with heads like Inuits in winter
Claws snag, unsheathed, like commas
Some with furrowed brows like tufts of dead grass
And peering gold coin eyes like encapsulated sunrises
That speak to me in answers
They would release a mist of tightly-packed dust
If they flicked away too quickly
In
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Literature
Crimson Couches
Monoliths sit metal-faced, stacks of staples
Pierced into the fabric of the night
And gleaming with the bright squares of existence
We are cut by the glass edges of population
The zipping silver crowns of cars
While splitting the streets
And slitting open the stomach of cities
We are let loose down the pants of America
Sent spiraling into pinwheels with the relentless bass thrum of engine breath
Lost between the hotels with geometric carpeting that tries not to offend
Their mirrored hallways defracted by bells
Dusty draperies hung like the garments of tired shopkeepers
We grab at the fabric of each thirsty sky with wavering eyes the way the homeless
Grab at the fabric of passersby
We are the debutants tearing across the surface of the world
The golden girls who swing their legs around like their lives
Grasping onto the filaments of the universe
That is blown away like hair.
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Literature
An Editor's Note
I lose half dream on Thursday
and there are no heartstrings to vibrate and echo in its absence
no word that’s decent enough
to take its place
there is not the tentative pause of a movie -
the moment before lips touch
on Thursday I lose half a dream and say
‘oh’
I am told that I will meet people with the universe rubbed into their skin
those who carry themselves like an unused jacket
half off the hanger
I will meet people with sick souls or bird throats
people with a laugh like flat stones skidding across a glass lake
those who talk about their dogs too much or drink straight from the milk carton
people who are thawing instead of tearing inside or like the way a lie tastes
and I am told that I should think about my dreams
that are tangled like hair
some day, people tell me, I will find dreams beneath the overpass
glinting like chipped glass or the sort of colored rocks that get children excited
dreams splintered like they flew out a car window and exploded upon impact
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Literature
Viera
A trip to the zoo when I turn seven. A giraffe's body bows and is pulled in half like scissors. We stare as I sit on a bench and sweat, my knees to my chest like I’m riding a bus. I look with the somber gravity of a seven-year-old.
At nine a magic show. All bow to the Great Roberto Robrini, the Wizard! He disappears in a handful of glitter while I wonder if double digits means smoke next time.
When I turn ten, the numbers roll over like eyes, and I find a small amount of night, but just enough. I don’t know how old you were when I abandon you beneath the moon, and you wait in my yard in the dark, pubescent eyes wide and glowing like orbs of sea, quivering with temptation as if you understand the wrinkles of the world.
A swimming lesson when I turn thirteen. The pool looks like a sink, a churning mass of heads and bodies in the grayed soap water. The company’s logo is stenciled onto the cinderblock wall, and I don’t know how to feel that I don’t have cello
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Literature
Twins
        Her tiny cheeks go so red at first they looked fresh-slapped and then I see dirt smiles beneath each fingernail and I shake her and knock the berries from her hands that are stained with sweet blood and I ask if she ate them, did she really eat them and she shakes her head in way that’s both yes and no and her hair's waving that’s like the fuzz on the belly of a Golden Retriever; and then she starts screaming and crying and sputtering that yes, yes, she did eat them because Lauren dared her to and she’s screaming something high and pure and shining while in the yard there’s people gathering that look like statues with beating hearts and I’m breathing through my teeth for an ambulance while people say, Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus word’s out there’s been some kid who’s stuffed berries in her mouth because Lauren dared her to and after a minute they scramble like pigeons for their phones and there’s been a call for
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Literature
Jasper
{for a boy, there were hearts on his tongue.}
1.
lately i’ve taken up watching the infestation of life on earth,
and maybe it has something to do with the organized mess
of Jasper’s world
which, for the longest time,
he knew best at ground-level
as he walked the universe in his sneakers.
2.
i heard that Jasper was born in a taxi
between two states
and he’s had to work out the paperwork the rest of his life,
and maybe that’s why he’s so beautiful,
because he likes being lost.
i’ve known him since his world revolved around dead things and poking them
since he was in second grade and had bangs in case of an emergency,
because you can’t see him if he can’t see you.
Jasper’s eyes match his hands the way his honeyhair matches the flurry of a dandelion’s
and he has a spray of freckles falling down his nose like droplets of jupiter.
3.
he collected obscure stones like i collected glittery bobby pins,
chose them and lined them like he
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Literature
A Crow Slept in My Soul Last Night
i have to stop looking into windows
and thinking they’re a part of my heart
i’ve forgotten how to write poetry,
the kind where eyes are words
and fingers are syllables
it’s slipped out the back
between the spaces of my ribs
that have screamed and splintered and crumbled
i’ve been living between alleyways
in the bruised cold,
and sometimes
i expect to find bodies
with faces washed and ironed
or blackbirds scattering
in my eyes
or a spit-drenched rabbit
between a mutt’s teeth
still alive and kicking,
a rope of red around its neck.
a crow slept in my soul last night,
and i’m still looking for a tip.
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Literature
Reasons Never to Write
You’ll want someone exotic, and marry a Romanian. He’ll tell you to dye your hair and you’ll do it, then make chewing on its multicolored strands a habit. You’ll kiss him once and say he tastes like wine. Wine, no? he’ll say with a grin. Only gentlemen drink wine. You'll leave him because you won’t like cliches.
You’ll find a shadow behind a counter (because that’s the only way to describe him). You’ll watch him clashing silverware around in drawers like cold piles of bones, and he’ll give you a free slice of key-lime pie and say it’s the best in the state. You’ll lick up its tanginess on the prongs of your fork and decide that it’s not, but you won't pull away from his eyes that will remind you of your favorite crayon. Then he’ll look you up and down and say, another? You’ll decide to love him because anyone worth loving is worth a free slice of key-lime pie. You’ll make him kiss you even w
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Literature
Ribs
i think of bones
those soft edges of my starving dog,
blank curves
thick, and the sort of blunt that was never any sharper
and they feel like broken knuckles
my cat is stacks of
poking ribs and bleached-bare haunches and restless,
bristling skin
the color of a fat moon and a skinny handful of dark
i prod my nails onto sharp tips and empty corners
let them run up the flesh like a blade,
like braille
she says why,
because they look like death, i say
and they feel like a crowded subway,
she tells me, stop, she says -
don't you already know what death looks like?
{don't you?}
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wondering where my mind goes in math class.

Friends

Groups

Until

you decide that the sun must be shot,

as it roars with its gaping possibilities.

blood smeared on your thighs.

it must be killed cleanly, skinned and seared with dignity,

a slab of light,

with its opaque juices,

crawling down your throat, inside and out,  

dewey and dripping with its packs of luminous muscle,

a satisfactory sheen,

no longer beating and throbbing as the heart of Day.

and with your fork, its spongy filaments

are torn methodically from dawn.


  • Listening to: Alexandre Desplat
  • Reading: Anna Karenina
  • Watching: My dog whine in his sleep.
  • Playing: My cello
  • Eating: Halloween candy
  • Drinking: Water

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LeftUnfinished's Profile Picture
LeftUnfinished
Amelia
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
"To live is so startling there is hardly time for anything else." - Emily Dickinson

Hello. I'm Amelia, as far as I know. Some people call me Mia, some call me Amy, and some people call me Weird. Take your pick.

Here is where I fill up a box with vague things about the life of an adolescent female. I am not a very interesting subject to fill up a box with, anyway - just your average silent-in-class writing weirdo.


things of lesser importance:

:bulletblack:Girl: hazel eyes, freckles, brown hair, short legs [female consumerism makes it tough], long fingers, long neck, cellist, weird

:bulletblack: I work best with classical music on

:bulletblack:My fingers and toes are permanently cold

:bulletblack:Professional daydreamer and people-watcher

:bulletblack:I love a good witty T-shirt

:bulletblack:Lover of small, useful things

:bulletblack:Allergic to most marine life, mammal dander, and nuts

:bulletblack:I love old movies

:bulletblack:Night is the best time to write

:bulletblack:I like to cry over novels and eat chocolate cake

:bulletblack:Amateur philanthropist

:bulletblack:I enjoy vertebrae, fingers, rib-cages, and all those other elegant ivory fortresses of nature

:bulletblack:I am a collector of words and have an addiction to day-dreaming [which is harmful to my Precalculus grade]

:bulletblack:Artificial flavour of choice: wintergreen

:bulletblack:I will always dislike wide-ruled paper.

:bulletblack:I love being alone in strange places

:bulletblack:Large dogs make excellent pillows

:bulletblack:I get too excited over stationary

:bulletblack:I have a birthmark in the middle of my right thigh that looks like a paint smudge

:bulletblack:I want to write fiction, maybe for television and film, maybe poetry. Haven't really decided yet.

:bulletblack:I keep a notebook next to my bed because ideas seem to spring when I have sleep deprivation

:bulletblack:I'm also in love with real books, not electronic ones

:bulletblack:Ask me stuff -- I don't bite

:bulletblack:My extremely special Flickr: www.flickr.com/photos/94745088…


:bulletblack::icondonotuseplz::iconusemyartplz:

:bulletblack::iconccwelcomedplz1::iconccwelcomedplz2:
:bulletblack: Anything more you want to know about me, feel free to ask! :iconglompplz: :iconbummiesplz: :iconfeelingfreeplz:

Universe Stamp by Kezzi-Rose :thumb295402806: Hot Chocolate Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Listening to the Rain by savagebinn Atheist not Satanist by ariat Useless knowledge by paramoreSUCKS :thumb64194669: I Love Chocolate by Sophibelle .: Read the comments :. Stamp by Beti-Kot New Book Stamp by SailorSolar Look at the Stars by AraulsStamps Art Geek Stamp by xoxostudios A Bit of Fry and Laurie by snakeandladders Honored 2 Have Gotten DD Stamp by Mirz123 Literature Is Art by grovyle-n-wolfluvr Wumbo Stamp by Kataoi Stamp: I Hate It When I... by Northern33 ..Real Paper Stamp.. by Rabid-Weasels Room Without Book Stamp by StirFryKitty it mocks me by ajCorza Typing Stamp by In-The-Machine Favorite Stamp by Ravechu So Many Books by LaPurr Studio Ghibli Fan by Sharkfold I support writing English by FragileReveries Stamp: Hidden Behind Camera by FantasyStockAvatars Character Stamp by Arpie Wishful Thinking by whispwill :thumb88360306: I refuse... Stamp by ladychimera Writer Working Stamp by Mirz123 DA Stamp - Think 03 by tppgraphics I like you, i'll.. by esoog-adnama Discovery Channel Stamp by PataPata11 1 AM Stamp by SparkLum Let's Do Science by ririnyan I Support the String Theory by stampystampy DailyLitDeviations stamp by caybeach Large Hadron Collider Stamp by stampystampy I love Cello by My-Black-WidoW Depression Stamp by SparkLum Mental health awareness stamp by Superspud Evolution Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Sherlock by Anawielle Astronomy by Mocarro Why is a Raven... Stamp by EmmaL27 HP Voldemophobia by TwilightProwler Matt and Karen Dance Stamp by TwilightProwler STAMP: A Writer's Suffering by Ellamenopea Stephen Fry Stamp by mrTwisby Favorite Characters Stamp by Stamp221 DW TARDIS Stamp by TwilightProwler Stamp - I love Green Tea by r0se-designs Fawlty Towers by Shantella I love the BBC stamp by NeverReallyBeenSure Monty Python Logo Stamp by krunchiefrog INTJ by Renalias MY ONE AND ONLY STAMPPPP by pumpkyn Ginny by renatalmar Severus Snape Stamp by Odogoo Luna Lovegood by phoenixtsukino Top Gear Fans by Tawreh Sarcasm Stamp by tailfeather I Sniff Books by MademoiselleGrief
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:iconchibeeluna:
ChibeeLuna Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2016
Nobu Llama Thanks plz~:heart:
Reply
:iconspiritofdarkness:
Spiritofdarkness Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2016
:wave: thank you very much for the :+fav: ninja turtle
Reply
:iconlissou-photography:
Lissou-photography Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you for the :+fav:! :)

If you like yummy pictures, you can check out my other food photographies here -> rea-the-squirrel.deviantart.co… :dance:

Reply
:iconliacri:
Liacri Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for adding my poem to your collection!
Reply
:iconcogwurx:
cogwurx Featured By Owner Oct 23, 2015  Professional Interface Designer
Thank you for the :+fav:!
Reply
:iconpoetryod:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2015
Thanks for the fave :D
Reply
:iconpevansy:
Pevansy Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Many thanks for adding me to your Deviant watchlist :)
Reply
:iconaadavy:
Aadavy Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2015  Student General Artist
Hi, thank you so much for faving Love wins - selfportrait (13 hours) by Aadavy , I really appreciate that! :) 
Reply
:iconcarmalain7:
Carmalain7 Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2015
Hey Amelia,

Thank you, good miss, for the favorite on Carrion Tallow.

I know it's not an easy piece of reading, so for you to go out of your way to let me know that it connected with you, it means a lot.
:iconbowplz:
Reply
:iconrubysummit:
RubySummit Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2015  Student Photographer
Cheers for the favourite on my recent DD, much appreciated! :love:
(Not) Parallel by Ravensaura
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