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About Literature / Hobbyist Sophie MarinUnknown Groups :icondeviantliterature: DeviantLITERATURE
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Literature
the most beautiful seasons of my life
i. january
i saw you then:
when the bell
rang, you lifted your head
and your hair, bright as a coin
in the snowy light—
i saw you, then.
ii. february
i don't write well,
or draw well
or speak well,
but i wore
my heart on my sleeve;
couldn't you see?
iii. march
you laughed breathlessly,
and you gave life to all things
that delighted you,
so that i could not help
but think:
you are the spring.
iv. april
rainy seasons
coincide with rainy times, and you found me
when a thunderstorm caught me.
flowers bloom through rain, you said;
you are strong, you said to me, you will
be stronger yet.

v. may
our first coffee
tasted extra sweet; sugar
on my lips, in the air,
and our words were
bright, young, and
blooming.
vi. june
we lay in the afternoon under
blue skies, blue as your eyes,
clouds drifting past
like idle daydreams.
you said you saw a rabbit, a cat, but all i saw
was you.
vii. july
there was sunlight on the
grass, on the
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Literature
vii. anemones and roses
"I don't think you were invited."
The words were delivered clinically—an observation, a statement—and the only thing that had managed to catch his attention was the slight wobble at the end, as though the speaker couldn't balance the syllables quite right.
He turned. A girl in a frothy dress stood with a hand on her hip, a cigarette dangling from her fingers; her other hand clutched the neck of a half-empty bottle. She had lovely hair, he noticed distantly. Golden-hued and threaded with flaxen strands. Very pretty.
Why was she staring like that?
Oh, right. She’d asked a question.
"No," he said slowly. His champagne glass hung from his fingers. If he twitched them, he was sure he could send the glass flying down. It would turn slowly through the air, shatter against the balcony floor, break into a million transparent pieces. Irreparable.
Damn it. He had drunk too much.
She hiccupped. “So you weren’t invited?”
He wondered if she was drunk, too. Looked
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Literature
vi. primrose and tulips
When Lee fell into the river, there was no one to catch him.
He supposed he'd deserved it, after what he did to Yvette. Still, as he splashed his way to the surface, he thought it was rather unfair that he had to suffer through such an undignified event.
He floundered, splashing about. His hand hit a rock and began to ache; Lee winced at the thought of the bruise that would eventually form. With an effort, he managed to propel himself above the waters.
"Gack," he said once, and then the river current pulled him under again. He wasn't particularly worried: he knew how to swim, had learned how to do it ages ago. And it wasn't as though his lungs were burning for air. Nevertheless, it wasn't a pleasant feeling to be submerged in the icy water, and it was terribly inconvenient not being able to see.
Something caught onto his jacket and gave a forceful yank. He fumbled blindly for the mysterious object, his hand closing on a set of slender fingers—and then he was being hauled out of t
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Literature
v. dahlias and geraniums
Martha had been late going out the door that morning because her youngest son had accidentally set the curtains on fire.
Luckily, her husband had not been home. Those curtains had been his favorite color.
"You're going to be in very big trouble when he finds out how that happened," she scolded Tony as he bawled into her neck. "Very big trouble, do you hear?"
Tony answered her by screaming in her ear.
Martha winced, though none of the passers-by took any notice. "For goodness' sake, Tony," she said. "I was just joking. He'll be very happy to see you, all right?"
"Home," Tony howled. "Want home."
"Home is a pile of wrecked, smoking charcoal right now," Martha said. She bounced Tony twice against her hip, trying to calm him. "We'll be on our own for a while. Now, now…"
She wandered up the street, checking the names of each shop. She passed by a bakery, a candy store, and a small boutique for children’s clothing. At this last shop, she left not without a little reluctant sigh,
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Literature
iv. daffodils and daisies
Annalisa Fairfax had been born with dark golden hair, but during their childhood years Cameron had seen the sunlight turn it into various lighter shades, until the golden strands were threaded with amber and champagne and honey. It was almost as though the sun had loved her too much, had dropped kisses on her hair one too many times.
Cameron had never dropped kisses on her hair. He'd playfully tugged on it in their youth and brushed it out of her eyes when they were older, but he'd never gotten any closer, because Annalisa perpetually had her star-filled eyes turned towards people who kept their back to her no matter how much she called for them.
He'd watched her stumble from one pair of arms to another, her rose-colored vision obscuring the way those arms remained slack around her. He'd told her, once or twice, warned her off someone or the other—but she'd laughed and told him not to worry each time, and then she would be gone, hair swirling behind her like a golden dream.
In mi
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Literature
iii. astilbe and roses
Rosemary opened her eyes and looked, as she always did, to her right. There he was, dozing quietly. In his lap lay a book, its pages rustling as a breeze curled in through the open window.
"Oliver." She said his name quietly.
He stirred but did not wake up.
She smiled fondly. In sleep, he looked like a little boy, his golden hair tousled and the furrow between his brows smoothed away. She wished she could stay a little longer, but she had to go.
Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cotton gown bunched under her knees. She put her weight on her feet and was pleasantly surprised she could stand.
"Don't you wish you were awake?" she teased Oliver. He snored in response and she giggled. She tiptoed past him. Her footsteps were silent as she went through the door.
She took the stairs. When she reached the ground floor, Rosemary looked around. The garden was in full bloom, and she wanted to memorize the sight. "Well, you can't blame me," she said aloud. "I haven
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Literature
ii. palm leaves
He arrived at the flower shop at the same time as the elderly woman.
"After you, ma'am," he said, pulling open the door. Wind chimes sounded out a welcoming melody.
"Why, thank you, my dear." The elderly woman moved slowly through the door, supporting herself with her flowery umbrella. "How kind of you.'
"No problem." He waited until she was through, and then followed her inside, gently closing the door.
The shop interior was cool and hushed. A tabletop fountain made of gleaming black material whispered in the corner, water trickling over the brim of its bowl and disappearing into its base. Near the back of the shop was a counter, behind which a woman was repotting what looked like two miniature trees.
The woman looked up. She was of indeterminate age: her face was unlined and her brown hair had no silver threads, but her dark eyes had an unsettling depth. "Welcome," she said.
"Er, hello," Finn said.
"Dorothea, is it?" the elderly woman said.
"That's me," said the other woman.
"We're a
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Literature
i. prelude
Moments are measured in heartbeats.
That is what they have told me, the people I have met. They tell me with wistful voices and distant gazes, their eyes on the fading sun.
They tell me about their happinesses, and their regrets. They tell me about the moments that they have had, and will keep with them forever.
Moments, I have been told, are measured in heartbeats.
Some go by quickly, some more slowly. Others involve a sudden burst of energy, and still others a curious languor. Some are forceful, some are soft; some are loud, some are quiet.
Sometimes, they are very quiet.
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Literature
dreamer's refrain
i dream passioned dreams
and wild things, of
honey-poached kisses
melting on my lips
like spring snow in the
summer air.
i dream sweet dreams
that i whisper to the moon and sky,
who speak no secrets and
whose smiles are silent
to hide the staccato beat
of a heart in bloom.
i dream strange dreams
for was there ever more
a fool than i, to love
someone so far?
and yet—
and yet—
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Literature
dearest ophelia
The air is sticky with summer.
Teresa steps through the lace-framed French windows and onto the terrace. The building hovers above the glittering landscape of the city, a swaying glass building that can withstand the shattering devastation of the strongest typhoons. From here, on the thirty-seventh floor, she can see straight across the harbor—she can see the flickering lights of the bay very clearly, gleaming like golden teeth in the yawning mouth of the night sky.
Despite the elevation of the building, it is uncomfortably hot. Her skin feels too tight for her skin; the sweat beads forming on her neck are tickling her. But she cannot leave yet.
She is looking for someone here.
The low humming of Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique catches her attention. She glances to the right: there. Dressed in utter black, the moonlight catching his hair like quicksilver. In one hand, Tristan holds the neck of a sweet burgundy; in his left, a glass that is lilting dangerously to s
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Literature
one who quarrels with the sky
One night, he sees the thunderstorm.
She is dressed in the rising mist, perfumed with spring flowers and crowned with lightning. The clouds burst open at her song and the heavens split themselves with a resounding crash.
It is on that night that he witnesses the thunderstorm in her greatest glory, the wreaths of electricity crackling around her arms, her loveliness captivating and dangerous. Her hair is threaded with raindrops and her feet are bare to the elements, and he thinks to himself that he has never seen anything so beautiful.
She is violence and the might of nature, the crash of storming waves. She is the sky, the moonlight, the earth on fire, the wind that calls his name.
When she turns, he sees that her eyes are midnight-dark, deeper than the ocean, that strange color that can drown a man without warning. He stands, helpless, caught in their depths.
She laughs, the sound a wild lovely note on the carrying wind. A leap carries her into the air, and then she looks at him again
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Literature
pedestal
that girl there—
she stands on mountains
and pillars of marble,
her feet on sunshine
and her head above the clouds.
she wakes to applause
and her ambrosia is praise;
she is kissed by the wind and
loved by the earth.
she is given smiles
wherever she goes,
and she smiles back;
it costs her nothing.
nighttime: the moon drifts
out, and all light is dim and dark
but true. the starlight is a crown
upon her as
she stands on mountains
and pillars of marble
alone.
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Literature
flower in rain
the thunder awakens me,
lightning makes my blood sing;
the wind spirals, whispers my name—
i am blooming.
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Literature
embroidered illusions
She sews her heart on her sleeve, permanent embroidery spun with the threads of faded dreams and the frayed edges of futile wishes. Her pulse rattles like a staccato drum when she sees a handsome face, her eyelashes fluttering like dragonfly wings when she hears a deep voice.
She walks with swaying hips and smiles with beckoning glances. She is an addict that hungers for the sweetness of a caress, a kiss. She wakes up every morning with a different person in her bed, but though the hollow feeling of loneliness never goes away, she thrives on the temporary warmth that radiates from the body next to hers—because sometimes, she wants to believe herself in love, as much as any other girl.
There are hundreds of boys, some nasty, some cruel. Others are kind and yet others are charming; but they all whisper words of affection in the curve of her neck and they all have hot eyes and thirsty mouths, and she never touches a drop of alcohol but she feels herself getting drunk nonetheless on
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Literature
ephemeral
6:00
We blossom with the sun.
It calls to us, once in a lifetime, its golden song causing us to wake. We have one day to bloom. Only one day to live.
But how lovely it is to live at all.
8:00
Here is a man, a young boy. He is watering the flowers, rearranging some leaves to make sure that the sun reaches every last plant.
I hover above, watching curiously. There is no sense in taking care of something else when you are the spirit of a daylily. You will never have a chance to watch it grow.
Below, the boy's movements are slow and careful; they speak of a love for this garden—a sweet sort of love, so very pure, the kind of love that trickles into the hollow of your chest and warms it from inside.
I wonder if he can see me.
10:00
"Of course they can't see us," says the rose spirit. "They're only human. They haven't the skill. We're like air to them."
"But see, he's looking at me right now."
"That's only your flower. He doesn't know that you exist. And besides, w
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Literature
polaris
i.
The North Star once fell in love with a girl.
But she was only human, and she passed away.
ii.
When he first saw her, she was very young—fifteen, maybe sixteen, her hair falling into her eyes as she bent down to pluck a dandelion from the ground. She was so small in that field of grass, so golden in the daylight.
She took his breath away.
He floated downwards, hoping for a closer look. He was almost invisible, save for the hint of stardust that trailed behind him in the late afternoon sun.
Though he made no sound, she turned. The dandelion seeds sprayed into the air with her movement. Her eyes widened—such eyes, dark and dazzling, the color of liquid shadows and obsidian. He lost himself into those eyes, fell into them so deeply that he could not speak. They studied each other in silence.
"Who are you?" she said at last.
"I am the North Star," he said, in a voice as soft as the whispering breeze. "I come from the skies."
She laughed. Perhaps she did not bel
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Critiques


Unassuming and minimalistic, Untitled by 12bfeygirl42 is a six-word story that effectively creates an overtone of sorrow and melancholy...

Favourites

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Mai
Quote:
It was all so complicated. When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations.
E M Forster, Maurice
Personal:
It's been a while hasn't it? This year has been both the busiest and emptiest all at once, having a lot of work but at the same time far too much free time to do nothing but think and avoid the pen. I have hardly written these past few months and I'm not sure why. I had my fourth heartbreak. Perhaps these things are related, or perhaps it is just something in the water. So it goes.
I am sorting through my inbox now, and am so surprised that people are still reading and commenting etc on my pieces even while I have been so dreadfully absent, and for that I am thankful and also sorry. This time, for sure, I'll stick around! :la:
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no longer for sleeping,
she ached by my side. And we lost so many weeks. 

expedition of the stubborn heart by ignotism
it’s the only way i know 
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unwoven 

process by toxic-nebulae
think what happens
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and more art.

family politics by nawkaman
and bleak silence comes after, stolen
into the folding of a newspaper, the soft shuffling off

recovery crawl by KaitForest
mostly my heart,
mostly my mind,
to the words stuck 
that won’t loosen 
that wedge themselves
in my teeth and fall out when
I’m drunk,

cynical: arsenical by counting-vertebrae
you are 
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Mrs-Durden started a project to share our favorite DD's of recent weeks and feature them in a journal. Something we volunteers can do and everyone else who would love to join in to show our love of Daily Deviations and fellow artists.



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Literature
manhattan light
this city doesn’t need stars, you say
we are guided by these skyscrapers
these hungry office buildings
these lonely crowded apartments—
there are wires on rooftops
and under concrete
that force the cosmos to work for us,
to illuminate our skylines.
we don’t need the stars, the moon
and as your hand grabs the nearest lamppost
i see manhattan light up beneath your eyelashes
and for the first time
i see you perfectly
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Journal
DD Highlights #2
Here are some of my favourite recent DDs! :D







Congratulations!
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Elaine
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Celebrate DeviantArt's 15th Birthday!
As DeviantArt enters its 15th year on the Internet, we want to take a moment before blowing out our candles to thank the community for allowing us the honor of hosting the site that you call your home for art. After all, it's the community's 15th birthday, too, and in the past few months, we've been making it our top priority to share with you our plans for the future, celebrate the successes of our past, and look to you for guidance on how best we can serve each of you while entering this new phase of DeviantArt's existence.
Featured
Twitter
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sophiemarin's Profile Picture
sophiemarin
Sophie Marin
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
I am currently somewhat on hiatus (thus updates may be infrequent).

Features:

:bulletblue: seaboundstars's feature i on September 4th, 2014
:bulletblue: A Daily Deviation on November 22nd, 2014
:bulletblue: theWrittenRevolution's Literature News on November 23rd, 2014
:bulletblue: Mrs-Durden's Daily Deviation Highlights III on November 28th, 2014
:bulletblue: inknalcohol's November Literature DD Round Up on December 1st, 2014
:bulletblue: A Daily Lit Recognition on January 12th, 2015
:bulletblue: Breath-of-Nefertari's Feature #10 - The Library of Nefertari on February 18th, 2015
:bulletblue: Miistical's For My Little Poet Wannbes on February 21st, 2015
:bulletblue: A Daily Lit Recognition on May 11th, 2015
:bulletblue: InklingsOfOblivion's Spectacular Memetacular on August 11th, 2015
:bulletblue: WindFragments's 2015 Feature on December 21st, 2015
:bulletblue: SheDares's Favs of note 30 on May 2nd, 2016
:bulletblue: Live-Love-Write's Feature of the Closeness Contest on August 17th, 2016
:bulletblue: xWritersUtopiax's Feature of the Closeness Contest on August 17th, 2016
:bulletblue: Writers--club's Closeness Contest on August 17th, 2016
:bulletblue: A Daily Deviation on October 4th, 2016
:bulletblue: Shirokibo's DD Highlights #2 on October 5th, 2016
:bulletblue: morbidman187's My Daily Deviation Highlights XV on November 2nd, 2016
:bulletblue: brennenxr's October + November Literature DD Roundup on December 1st, 2016
:bulletblue: joufancyhuh's Word Meat Issue 2 on April 25th, 2017
:bulletblue: comatose-comet's Mai on May 5th, 2017

Thank you very much!

Interests

After completing Version 1, I decided to give this one a try.

1. Grey 
2. Mother Nature 
3. Abandoned a solstice of sorts
4. Drowning
5. Memory: bird without wings
6. Night
7. Eyes 
8. Solitude: pedestal
9. Hide and Seekan ode to whimsy
10. Day: ephemeral
11. Treasure 
12. Fire: morning glory
13. Light 
14. Stars: polaris
15. Holding handssonder
16. Out Coldinterlude
17. Dark 
18. Rain: in open conversation
19. Familybreathing the deep
20. Words: song
21. Break Away 
22. Sorrow 
23. Friends 
24. Puzzles
25. Alone: i am, i am, i am
26. Happinesstwitterlight oblivion
27. Obsessions: alice, my dear
28. In the Storm: flower in rain
29. Breathe 
30. Flowers: memento mortis
31. Traps 
32. Given Upsave the melancholy
33. Insanity 
34. Tears: rumpelstiltskin
35. Tower 
36. Country Life
37. Misfortune 
38. No Time 
39. Secrets: afternoon tea
40. Envy
41. Smile 
42. Dying: a place for flowers
43. Magic 
44. Broken: luminosity
45. Silence 
46. Two Roadslovers of the beautiful
47. No Way Out 
48. Growththe most beautiful season of my life
49. Blood 
50. Illusiondon't let's wake up just yet
51. Lost: icarus
52. Playing the Melody: steady as she goes
53. Rainbow 
54. Standing Still: chrysanthemums and daffodils
55. Pride 
56. Devils
57. Urban Living 
58. Dreams: dreamer's refrain
59. Tainted 
60. Celebrations
61. Divided 
62. Going Green 
63. Winter 
64. Space
65. Fallingfragile calamity
66. Autumnal 
67. Explosions 
68. Balloons
69. Mirror: layers
70. Fantasy Creatures 
71. Pack of Cards 
72. Time Travel
73. Youth: 3:00 am
74. Earth 
75. An open door 
76. Running Away
77. Cute Monster 
78. Colour 
79. Luckyprimavera
80. Timeless
81. Party Time 
82. Masquerades 
83. Toys 
84. Science Fiction: horus
85. A Stack of Books 
86. Mystical 
87. Dragons 
88. Pirates
89. Mayhem: one who quarrels with the sky
90. Waterfall 
91. Dancingan elixir for serendipity
92. Fight for your Life: quiescence
93. Money 
94. Hold on Tight: dearest ophelia
95. A Zodiac Symbol 
96. Welcome Homemiles to go
97. Blue: melancholy blue
98. Wings: taking flight
99. Vampires 
100. Forests

:iconkittydividerplz::iconkittydivider2plz::iconkittydivider3plz::iconkittydivider4plz::iconkittydivider2plz::iconkittydividerblueplz:


Start Date: July 13, 2014
End Date: TBA

Comments


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:iconskaah:
Skaah Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Awesome writing!
Reply
:iconsophiemarin:
sophiemarin Featured By Owner Oct 6, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you!
Reply
:iconcomatose-comet:
comatose-comet Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
your DD was so well-deserved and so beautiful, I can't believe I wasn't watching you before! Congrats again :dalove:
Reply
:iconsophiemarin:
sophiemarin Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you very much!
Reply
:iconskrawll:
skrawll Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2016
can I pinch your 100 theme challenge to use in my gallery? ^-^
Reply
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