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Sekwaya

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About Me Member Self-proclaimed Genius RecordKeeperFemale/Canada

Recent Activity Deviant for 4 Years
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The Name in the Mind

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Last looks...One last conversation As the night quiets down, Something to remember For this coming age of silence.
One last look at you To engrave your face In a corner of my mind … one last time.
Soon silence takes over At our end of the table, There’s nothing left to say Yet the truth of it was left unsaid.
A few good laughs, A few good arguments. One last goodbye Before the eclipse…

RK. Sekwaya Last looks...
by ~RecordKeeper

Goodbyes“Cheer up,” you say. “This was a good day.” But how can I not cry Every time you say goodbye?
How can I go on my way while my soul lags behind in your footsteps?
My cheek touches yours and I cannot let go of this (lest my heart breaks)…
Now here comes that sensation, like a quiet desperation, in painful anticipation of this, another separation.
I’ve held on to this secret out of true cowardice and foolishness.
Why did I deceive you? Why, with ignorance, I stole these moments?
Why cou Goodbyes
by ~RecordKeeper

DI. Pilgrim 2.11-13 When they arrived at the Theatre House the festival was well underway. They were in the middle of a famous play being performed by a foreign company of actors who all had red hair. There were thousands of people sitting on the ground in the open evening air, on a slope so even the people at the back could see and hear the actors on the stage. It was a comedy, and the people laughed easily. The owner of the Theatre House, an elderly woman, a retired actress who wore too much makeup, was a cheerful one and very enthusiastic – this was the most profitable time DI. Pilgrim 2.11-13
by ~RecordKeeper

Pilgrim 2.8-10 When the Heretic woke up they were in a stone room lit by torches on the walls, with two doors at opposite ends with two Guards each. He felt pain in every bone and muscle of his body. The worse pain was the one in his side, an instant sharp pain that hit him at each breath he tried to take. 'That will teach me for opening my big clumsy mouth,' he thought with a groan as he started to sit up. “Stay still,” the Pilgrim said, gently making him lie back down. “You have some broken ribs, I am trying to mend them. Thank the gods none of the Pilgrim 2.8-10
by ~RecordKeeper

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-- Restart --Once upon a time…

The café was dim and cozy, lit only by the candles on the tables and the white fairy lights that graced the walls, framed the windows, and bathed the stage in the back in a soft golden glow. Outside the night was a relentless storm, the rain coming down in pounding, pouring sheets. The wind howled past the door, screaming through the streets. The café was filled with people who had come in to escape the weather, people who were now sitting in dark booths sipping steaming drinks. The room was filled with the soft din of light conversation and hushed laughter. When the singer came on stage no one even seeme -- Restart --
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Strange feeling...

Mon Jan 21, 2008, 5:33 PM

I've heard of this before,
I've known what it was supposed to do,
but this is not it.

I knew about obcession,
about things that could consume you
but I never knew I could loose myself in this.

How many kinds of love are there really?
People tell me about it,
but they never mentioned that gut feeling
similar to the one you get in your stomache in a high speed rollercoaster when it suddenly plunges down,
they never mention finding yourself in someone else's words.
This is not the same,
this is love more ancient than mankind
and yet never before seen.

This is love of a wholy different kind,
this is love and this is truth... gods please tell me this is true.

RK. Sekwaya

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