Discover Hope
Discover Hope self stories
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stadarooni
stadarooni Empathy is the human superpower.
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Finding yourself in the border between day and night, reality and imagination.

Discover Hope

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars – a string stretched over the edge of the horizon,

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars – a string stretched over the edge of the horizon, a portal to a prologue of gateways to galaxies

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars – a string stretched over the edge of the horizon, a portal to a prologue of gateways to galaxies in chapters one through four.

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars in chapter five,

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars in chapter five, where the hush of the sunset circles back to my hope

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars in chapter five, where the hush of the sunset circles back to my hope like apple and apricot jam peeling off their fire,

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars in chapter five, where the hush of the sunset circles back to my hope like apple and apricot jam peeling off their fire, retracing the rapture of the sapphire sky.

But what about chapter six?

Do the clouds carry the wispy words of this story,

Do the clouds carry the wispy words of this story, or the trail of biplanes that buzz in the tides of noon?

Is the story going backwards,

Is the story going backwards, where sunrises symbolize my yearning for yesterday?

My yearning. My hope. My story.

My yearning. My hope. My story. It all sounded beautiful until chapter six.

The kissing, crushing rush of creativity

The kissing, crushing rush of creativity crumbles with my canvas of colour,

The kissing, crushing rush of creativity crumbles with my canvas of colour, only leaving a maw of ink in the midnight over me.

“Why can’t I write?” I ask the air, the tempo of the clock, and time itself,

“Why can’t I write?” I ask the air, the tempo of the clock, and time itself, marching forward in its pleasing promenade

“Why can’t I write?” I ask the air, the tempo of the clock, and time itself, marching forward in its pleasing promenade past my hues of heartache and pigments of pride,

“Why can’t I write?” I ask the air, the tempo of the clock, and time itself, marching forward in its pleasing promenade past my hues of heartache and pigments of pride, into a void of vapour where the universe melts into grey.

Yet, here I am, letting you into the story.

Yet, here I am, letting you into the story. You’re like time, savouring tomorrow

Yet, here I am, letting you into the story. You’re like time, savouring tomorrow while I muse about mornings now sketched

Yet, here I am, letting you into the story. You’re like time, savouring tomorrow while I muse about mornings now sketched into memories like scars.

If I close my eyes, the darkness can bring chapter six

If I close my eyes, the darkness can bring chapter six in dilapidated dreams of abstract reality,

If I close my eyes, the darkness can bring chapter six in dilapidated dreams of abstract reality, where syllables trickle into my fingers that

If I close my eyes, the darkness can bring chapter six in dilapidated dreams of abstract reality, where syllables trickle into my fingers that cannot remember the last time they interlaced with yours.

These chapters –

These chapters – they’re a daydream that dances in a whirl of wishes:

These chapters – they’re a daydream that dances in a whirl of wishes: A tale that rewinds into another body, into another me.

A tale that never finished.

“Right?” I whisper to the ceiling as I stare at the stars sprinkled,

“Right?” I whisper to the ceiling as I stare at the stars sprinkled, draped around the heels to the head of my bedroom.

My dulled eyes reach beyond them, blurring them out into infinity.

Yet, I hear a line.

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of poesy, prose, and purpose.”

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of poesy, prose, and purpose.” The stars start to race with a paradiddle of heartbeats

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of poesy, prose, and purpose.” The stars start to race with a paradiddle of heartbeats as I return to the sight of smiles.

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of poesy, prose, and purpose.” The stars start to race with a paradiddle of heartbeats as I return to the sight of smiles. They’re not the ones twinkling, though.

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of me,” I say,

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of me,” I say, letting the wallpaper of my room – no, of my universe –

“The pen is a doorway into the depths of me,” I say, letting the wallpaper of my room – no, of my universe – wrap around me as they cradle dreams,

blending and blushing and blooming and bursting

blending and blushing and blooming and bursting like firecrackers and flowers of impossible colours.

The wallpaper – the stars, the dreams – they’re all me,

The wallpaper – the stars, the dreams – they’re all me, flying with the wind as I twirl my tears of ink

The wallpaper – the stars, the dreams – they’re all me, flying with the wind as I twirl my tears of ink into a fountain of fantasies flowing up in a spiral,

The wallpaper – the stars, the dreams – they’re all me, flying with the wind as I twirl my tears of ink into a fountain of fantasies flowing up in a spiral, humming to the harmony of my imagination.

The pen is a tightrope to tiptoe between dreams and stars

where chapter six waits, glowing at the end.

(Aside) Hey, all! This piece might be a long one but I really hope that it was enjoyable to read. I certainly loved writing this and it's the most fun I've had writing since September or October of last year. :)

You may recognize some parts of this piece from the previous one, and there is a reason for that! That first line was supposed to be for a piece more like this one, but while initially writing, I concieved my previous post. I wanted to come back to it though as I had the wallpaper idea. :)

This piece felt very personal to write, too, and I am very happy that I wrote a story as this reminds me of my AI stories (on Commaful)! :D Besides that, this piece is also based on some ideas that I had from a video game (Halo Infinite) trailer last year that has the same title as this piece.

You all take care, and thank you for reading! Keep writing and being good to each other, Commaful! <3

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