The Literary Vault

i used to believe that silence was a virtue. is it really though?

conversations with a ghost: midnight thoughts

in a small house on the countryside a ceiling fan spun and spun and spun, its plastic blades spreading the cold air across the very warm and small room. the room’s walls were painted a dark blue, with The Smiths posters hung up all over them. the posters shook as the bed’s twin sized mattress covered with black sheets creaked as he tossed and turned.

in another room just outside a big city, lay a stuffed teddy bear, fluffed up and held by her. the fluffy light green blanket was wrapped around her cold body as she tried to warm up. her room was painted white with pastel purple stripes running down the walls. a delicate white bookshelf with Lana Del Rey vinyls were displayed right next to her bed.

in each room, both pairs of eyes stayed open, staring out the bedroom window. his brown irises and her green irises gazing in thought. the moon’s radiant light shining through the glass as their mind’s thoughts were like floating clouds, coming and going:

A lone dandelion bud glistened in the starry night, lying under the twinkling, dark blue sky, blissfully nestled in a vast meadow surrounded by tall blades of grass. Its short stem shook in the gusty wind, struggling to regain balance. The whisper of the breeze hung in the cold air, urging the bud to blossom, face the unknown, complete its cycle, so that one day, a hopeless person or a happy child could blow on its white fuzz, eagerly awaiting the heavens to grant their wish true.