I made these poems when I was first falling in-love with my girlfriend. It started with how I felt whenever I was talking to her and how she made me feel. Also it made me realize that I wanted to be with her.

Valentine's Day was approaching fast, and I bet my boyfriend forgot.

Haunted by his dark past and betrayed by his only family, Ryan Volkov, the only prince left of the fallen mafia empire, while surviving through the outcomes of his brother's sin finds a new hope of life. Of love. Being twisted by his obsession, will Ryan fail to protect his only love or will he fail again like the past, he had wanted to forget for so long.

My name is Megan. In 1991, I was 16 and dating the boy I had always loved. I had not expected that my destiny would be radically changed by the arrival of Jessy. This 17-year-old boy attracts me from the first glance, even if he seems to be fleeing the whole world. Gradually, I get closer to him and discover him. One evening, I no longer resist and kiss him but he pushes me away before telling me his painful secret: he has been HIV-positive for a year. Since he had an unprotected heterosexual relationship. In 1991, all we knew about AIDS was that it was a deadly and frightening disease. Anyone who knows Jessy's condition rejects her. Will I do the same or stay close to him at all costs ?

English is not my native language, there may be some mistakes for which I apologize in advance.

Elora is the first lady for her best friend (also known as the Princess of the Aquafaires), Adelina. She's vowed to serve her wherever she goes. So, when Adelina is forced to go live with her betrothed in the Lightfaries kingdom she has to follow, naturally.

There she meets Xylon, her best friends betrothed, who seems to have an interest in her instead of his fiancée.

Until now, Siaolong realized that the young woman lying in the dilapidated wooden coffin was the one in his heart. The one he destroyed with his own hands. She lay slanted, asleep under a pile of old, tattered fabric, with a small smile at the corner of her lips

This poem delves into the intricate facets of love, painting a vivid emotional landscape. It grapples with the idea of taking a leap of faith in love, a leap that could either lead to an enduring relation or painful abandonment.

The poem explores the complexities and risks inherent in love, highlighting the delicate balance between trust and fear, intimacy and rejection, and the longing for a deep emotional commitment.

It invites readers to reflect on their own experiences and emotions in the realm of love and relationships.

..........

If I tumbled headlong, entwined in your love's hold,

Would you steal away needed fragments of my tortured soul?

Or would you embrace me with arms open wide,

Mending the shattered pieces of distrust hidden inside?

Would your kisses be whispers, sweet and pure...

Potom, co se Jeremy náhle rozhodne pro odjezd do vzdálené země, Harper zůstává ve stále stejném, neznámém městě, obklopena spoustou cizích, či nepřátelských lidí. Postupně ztrácí sílu a vůli, ale co hůř? Harper Evansová si uvědomí, že pomalu ztrácí poslední milovanou osobu ve svém životě. Když se tak stane, sama se ocitne na hraně života a smrti. Okusí, jaké to je být skutečně na dně a udělá cokoliv pro to, aby se dostala zpátky na vrchol.

,,Slib mi, Harper, že nikdy nepřestaneš doufat,  že i když se ocitneš na místě, odkud se nebudeš moci dostat pryč- nikdy nepřestaneš bojovat, nikdy neztratíš naději. Slib mi to Harper, prosím."

,,Slibuji."

Kéž bych ona slova nikdy nevyslovila. Kéž by navždy zůstala viset na mých rtech, aniž bych je vyslovila nahlas. Lítost, jež mne nyní sužuje je příliš velká na to, abych ji byla schopná unést. Pokud ji ovšem unésti chci. Roky se potloukám životem, který připomíná jednu velkou tragédii a pro co vlastně? Všichni mí milovaní mě opustili a zanechali napospas zrádným nástrahám existence. Matka raději odjela tisíce mil daleko, než aby se o mě musela starat. Táta zachránil svého parťáka a upřednostnil ho tak přede mnou. Jeremy se rozhodl pro vysněný, šťastný život v zahraničí, jehož nejsem součástí. Tetička vzdala boj s rakovinou, ale její poslední slova byla právě o neztrácení naděje a vůle žít. Není to ironické?

Murder cases have been going on... who could it be? (Ongoing)

It's funny how the world looks different when you know it will be the last time you ever experience any of its qualities. We live life in the modern world as repetitive and dull as possible – we forget that we are the creation of nature. I don't think I ever really grasped that concept. We are connected to each other in ways that were never thought possible – only imagined by the most creative minds – that allows me to instantaneously speak to someone across the world and hear of disastrous miracles as they happen no matter where they happen. We, humans, man, people, beings – whatever you like to call yourself or others – have become intertwined as a race. Becoming a machine society has separated us from the truth. The truth is that we are not the world; we think we are independent of the earth and its complexity and have become the host, bestowing ourselves the privilege of altering and commanding all that belongs to nature. Wow, I sound like one of those activists who glue themselves to streets and dye rivers or destroy works of art. I am not one of them. In fact, like most people, I quite dislike those people. It may be the fact that I am walking to a place where my eyes will capture life for the last time that I may have some understanding of what those delusional people were spouting. However, I still love the things we have created and the world we have formed. I don't hate the inventions we have made to better our lives – playing video games or binging movies are or were my favourite things. We are intelligent life forms and therefore have the right to build, innovate, create and imagine. It only occurs to me now that we have lost that flame in each of us that connected us to nature – to living. Have we lost humanity? I don't know if that is the right word; humanity is too ambiguations. Humanity means many things to many different people. Some believe it entails that we as humans have the ability to sympathise or emphasise – maybe, but I have seen other forms of life show care, love and empathy – others connotate humanity to man's means of creativity, to the power of imagination. I can see how this can be thought of as something unique to our race, yet how are animals able to build dams or nests, sing songs to their potential mate, create erotic dance rituals or learn new ways of gathering food if they did not possess this 'power of creation and imagination'. To be honest, I don't know what the humanity signifies. I only had a year of philosophy an undergraduate – one of those professors, I am sure, will provide ample insight on the matter. For now, let's stick with my thoughts on the matter. When I say that we have lost what made us human, I mean the fact that we forget to live. It seems that the only people who experience the amazing privilege of being human are artists – true artists, the ones that are mimetic, feared by Plato, admired by Aristotle, prised by Romantics and studied by scholars – people who work with nature and the rich. If we take away all our gadgets, careers and material goods, we resort back to being an intellectual living life form on earth. A form of life that has the ability to reflect on their surroundings and be in awe of the complexities they are a part of – to breathe. That is humanity to me: the ability to know that you are only human. That is precisely what I am engaging in now, the art of being human. While walking to my destination, I have no gadgets, no career I am pursuing and no material obsessions. I am breathing, seeing and feeling; because I am human, I am aware of this and can reflect on it. Because all that has been made mechanical has been stripped away, I have become more entuned to my base form, resulting in all my senses (which I have taken for granted) have been intensified. That, or the realisation that I will never experience the surreal around me, has made me more aware of them. Either way, I will enjoy this. Enjoy the cold air on my skin that has formed small bumps all over, sending a tingling feeling down my body. The hairs on my arm that never made themselves conscious to me are now alive, swaging gently in each direction as if they, too, have been given sight and, like children, are eyeing everything in sight with great amazement. My feet, who were only there to carry me to my monotonous destinations, are not free. Free wonder the ground like a mole – blind but sensitive and with precise direction. Best of all is my eyes. They are truly alive – maybe for the first time since I was a child – and are able to witness life. I don't remember the precise moment my eyes became dormant; I don't even recall my age. I do, however, remember how the world seemed to be alive in everything that came into my vision. I can see life all around me, from the trees to the wind, from the clouds to the small drops of water on each leaf, from the large soaring birds to the smallest insect – all alive and all experiencing life with me. My fingers also seem sensitive; I now realise I never paid attention to the textures around me. The bark feels rugged, and the soil ruffs with every particle scratching my skin. The thing I feel most is the rope in my hands. The fibres caress my fingertips, and their plaited nature is like speed bumps whenever my hand moves over them. It makes my heart race; I can hear it beat faster and faster as my destination draws near. Having monologued to myself again – however, this time, I did not mind – I feel like a modern Wordsworth, and unlike Odin, I have gained the knowledge before the act.

There are things no one was meant to see, and darkness that should never have been given living form.

"That the world is coming to an end has long since been a dead issue. Everyone has heard of it. Those who have seen it know what the truth is, those who haven't either believe it or not. Either way, no one really cares. We shattered reality itself to shards, but even the apocalypse could not make a difference. Those who are lucky enough to live well don't care about other people's misery or how the world collapses, not even if their own children will have nothing to inherit but ashes and fear, and no matter how much power they have, they only use it for their own benefit, while bringing suffering to others. And the worst is, no matter what nightmarish old or new ideologies they use to justify their deeds, the flock will follow. In the end, the story is always the same."

This is the story of a broken world haunted by the deepest horrors of the human soul, relentless persecution and superstitious hatred, a fanatic war against everything that is not human, and the damned who oppose and never yield to fate. This is not a fairytale.

What to expect:

A deep dark medieval high-fantasy with elves, dwarves, fairies and demons, magic and swords, romance and hatred, and a post-apocalyptic world. This is not a fanfiction of any sort, it's an original story that popped out from my head, and it's very dear to me. I am really happy if you find it worth reading!

Please read the short "Good to know" chapter before you dive in!

Hasan, a dedicated radiologist with a reputation for being as grumpy as a bear, is known as a serious and emotionally reserved individual, famous for his seemingly impenetrable heart. The hospital staff is well-acquainted with his fierce professional rivalry with Jasra, a talented new radio manipulator.

However, fate takes an unexpected turn when Shaheera, Jasra's vivacious best friend and a cheerful young woman working in a publishing house, enters Hasan's life. With a heart brimming with love to give, Shaheera dreams of finding a profound connection with a man who can reciprocate her affection and make her heart flutter with joy. Little does she know that Hasan, the perpetually stoic radiologist, will shatter her expectations and touch her heart in ways she never imagined possible.