Broken Dreams Poetry Novels & Stories

Then why can't you relate your dreams to the future? And I don't understand why you feel suffering when you have dreams. Anyone cannot be lost in this world until they have dreams. Just like the clouds cluttered in this lost sky, you have me to endure your dreams and a fainted image has been memorized in my view. "Amanda Parker, wake up I'm telling you this the last time." a fainted voice, engraved in my mind and before I could open my eyes. I had thousands of sprinkles of water on me. Like a splash in the midnight of the ocean, my thoughts were damped in the water.

By the seventh year of my relationship with Vanessa McBride, she inherited everything her late sister, Rebecca Holloway, had left behind, including her brother-in-law, Derek Holloway. Every time Vanessa returned from Derek's room, she would hold me close and whisper softly, "Just wait a little longer, Grant. Once I give him a child, we'll finally have our wedding." It was the only condition her family had imposed for her to inherit the McBride legacy. In the six months after returning to the capital, Vanessa went to Derek's room regularly. At first, it was once a month. Then, once every few weeks. Eventually, it became almost every other night. And after six months of being alone every

Let the dreams rot in the dark without you. But the jar was still full. Because I hadn’t taken more. Because part of me was still waiting, wasn’t it? Still wondering. Still listening for footsteps in the corridor, even as I cursed the idea of them. “Stupid,” I whispered to the dark. “I told them I wouldn’t be theirs. And now look at me.” Still wanting. Still breaking. Still hoping, somewhere deep beneath the rot, that someone might break the rules to reach me. But none of them would.

She didn't even know how she made it back to her room. In the bathroom, she gripped the sink and retched until her stomach burned. Only when the pain twisted sharp did she slowly lift her head to the mirror. No tears left. She was the proud Beaufort heiress. This—this wreck—wasn't who she was meant to be. She sat hollow for what felt like forever, until the sky bled pale. Only then did she finally crawl into bed. This time, she was done. She didn't want him anymore.

--- Darkness swallowed me. Not like falling down— But falling inward. Beneath my skin. Beneath my soul. Every breath unravelled into smoke. Every thought shattered like stars turning cold. No sky. No ground. Only silence. Then—shatter. Visions tore through me like flame through glass: A silver temple in ruin. Its towers split. Its altar is nothing but ash. Inside, wolves burned. Not in agony— In ecstasy. Their howls were hymns, as if they’d waited centuries to be devoured by flame.

Andrew lay in the shadowed silence of their shared bed chamber, his wolf prowling beneath his skin, restless and agitated. His broad chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his amber eyes burning with the fire of his thoughts. The weight of Blackwood Enterprises’ crumbling state pressed down on him, the howls of failure reverberating in his mind. His pack had suffered, and the scent of defeat clung to him like the blood of a hunt gone wrong. His hands clenched into fists, his claws barely restrained beneath his human skin.

Sleep, when it came, was shallow and restless, plagued by dreams of shadows and threats lurking just beyond reach. --- The dawn broke with a pale, cold light filtering through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Sophia shivered as she stood outside the cabin, staring out at the endless stretch of woods. The sense of being watched hadn’t left her, even in the daylight. Every rustle of leaves or distant birdcall set her on edge.

I love you so much. I close my notebook and make my way inside, it is getting darker earlier now and the wind begins to chill in the evening. As with so many nights now, I get into bed and cry myself to sleep. I am whisked off to a land where nightmares fill my being, where I walk with the evil that is called sorrow and the devil that is named regret. A very short but tortured rest carries me through the night.

He was so skinny that he looked bony, his face was ghostly pale, and he was so frail that a gust of wind could knock him over. When I arrived, I saw a spark of life return to his eyes, like an old fire rekindled. Still, that tiny ember vanished the moment I spoke. "I used to want to marry you here more than anything." Saying it now, I didn't feel pain anymore. Maybe, when the end is near, your heart just gets lighter.

I'm also impatient, so I grab it and turn it over. The sketch is beautiful. A woman holding her heart in her hand. As I look at it, I tilt my head, her body appears to be melting in some ways. She looks beautiful, but like she is hurting, holding her broken heart in her hand. I begin reading the poem. Shattered reality A broken vision Sees imperfections Flaws and disfigured Beauty is the truth Truth is lost Bound by the words Fear that cripples Shattered reality Broken vision Unable to see the beauty