Floridaskye

Life is so strange. You meet someone, you fall in love, and you lose someone. Or maybe that’s just me. Perhaps I don’t know what love really is. I know it’s not an image on a piece of paper, and it’s not the way we all fantasize about. Hollywood romances end up in the gutter more than the average American’s love life. I thought it was two people caring about each other to the point that they can survive anything. Not that it’s easy, but they work for it. Love is not one sided, it’s not about me making you the center of my world. That’s not healthy. I think I understand that much now. You can&rsq

Two lovers, forged in war, and torn by time, and station, and rank. Yet love bridged that gap. Love for a girl whose name can not be remembered or spoken. Love for a girl whose face is but a ghostly visage, lost in the past. Her memory is a trauma; a deep tear in the fabric of his universe, covered over and filled in by glue and paper mache. To remember invites a pain he can not bear, a pain that would rend him from his bland existence and destroy the world he has built for himself. Years pass and the ticking bomb in his head remains, it leaks radiation through the barrier of paper, invading his dreams. A woman reaching out, a room overlooki

Regrets Alistair Skye stood before the large circular window behind his desk, looking out at the vastness of space and the bluish green nebula that would forever hang against that dark void. He found it a relaxing diversion from his usual duties. He spent most of his days settling disputes, reviewing reports, filling requests, and all together running around like a mad man for the benefit of no one but himself. So when he did get a moment to relax, he spent it in front of the window, staring out into the simple beauty of the heavens. The fact that something so majestic could occur naturally gave him hope for the future, for in space there we

ALPHA A swirling mist of incoherent images spun like a hurricane in William's mind until the form of a man took shape, his distinguishing features shrouded in grey. This was a factor to be ignored as William knew this man, for it was this man who had initiated this session; a man who now sat across from William in a dead silence, waiting for some clarity. The featureless ghost of a man in William's mind walked along at a steady pace towards an unfamiliar destination, "Two Two Four Three One" he said as the numbers pulled focus over everything else, coming to the forefront of his mental view. "My address," the man stated simply. The image

The fantasy lives we lead. The things we birth in our brains. Entire worlds and civilizations made up from the neurons in our brains. Worlds of love, worlds of pain, worlds that spin in the infinite blackness of the space that is our mind. These words spin in that void, unfulfilled until given life. The writer with his pen or word processor. He has this control, like a god sitting high above everything, scripting, plotting, planning. What will he create? I created a character in a world populated through the visions of other authors, and through that I became stronger in my craft, and my character grew. My character lived in a world of thou

Love is an enigma. Something true that should be but never is. At least not for me. I have such love inside me, waiting to get out, waiting for the right woman. But she never comes. She never is. She doesn't exist. She's a figment, a figment dancing on the edge of dreams, on the edge of my imagination, on the edge of reality of what is true and real. Instead they see the enemy, the antithesis of me. The one that treats them with disrespect and disregards them at the first chance for a newer model. Yet they pine, they wail, and they cry desperately for the one who would treat them like a disposable toy. This is life's joke, this is the cosmic