Story Pastry's Bakery

[Pastry]

Hello!

Pastry here.

I joined this site in 2018/maybe? When I was pretty young. I loved roleplaying at the time, and I really appreciated the way that I could just travel through a fanatical world that characters I and others created. But, time flew by, and I realized that the chances of having long-term, fully sought, and fully committed roleplay groups were dwindling (I tend to avoid 1x1s for safety reasons. So, I stopped doing it. I was tired of creating characters that wouldn't be fully developed, so I'd scrap that character and make a new one. Anyways, it's been a long time since I've been back on here. When I'd left I soon discovered how much I loved writing. My friends irl would always tell me that I needed to really express my writing because the way I spoke sounded like it should be written down. And, since RPN at the time was a 20/80 shot of getting a committed group, I figured I should just keep it to myself. But, while I was gone, I was posting a lot of stories to a Wattpad page. I figured, why not reach out to more people by posting what I'd put on here? Why not have people who don't use Wattpad, but RPN checks out some short-written things I've done? I think it could not only develop my writing skills but also develop the ideas in my head so that I could create more roleplays and be a GM.

So, the posts will be first written and posted on my Wattpad page. I'll copy and paste them here. I'm hoping to just have a neat lil archive for people to read through. Sort of a "pallet cleanser" for those who are having writer's block.

 

[Pastry]

#1, High's and Lows​

A/N, Be aware that this story contains symbolic suicide.


Somewhere, someplace, it's time to go to therapy. They looked onward at a small building on the side of the main road, cars passed by casting judging looks. They needed this. But, do they want this? The bell that hangs over the door jingles as they enter. The environment of the reception area looks, judgemental, almost? Lights hung from the ceiling and deep brown couches affixed with tables contrasted the bright, white walls. It almost looked close to a refurbished hospital. Incense trickled into their nostrils from the wick. It was homelike. If one could characterize this place as home. Every motion afterward came as a blur. Checking in, settling on an itchy couch, and uncomfortably shuffling into a smaller and secluded space in the back of the office. The couch is more comfortable this time. The person sitting across from them is also comforting.

After a long, suffering silence, ranging from about twenty to thirty minutes, the one across from the participant spoke.

"What are your hobbies?"

They replied.

"I like to watch the rain. I want to watch it pitter and patter on the windshield or window. Sometimes I think I am looking through a portal, to another world. Where it is dry wherever I am, it's torrential outside. Sometimes this reflects my life outside of just a portal to torrential. I like to think I am in a safe haven, especially in my room. When it's raining, my windows get pelted by it. With the thunder and the lightning, my sink drips, too. I think I need to get that fixed. The fan creaks, my feet hurt, my socks are dirty, I haven't done an ounce of homework in days, I keep getting distracted, so half-done is strewn all over the place, dust covers my desk, why are there so many cups on my table? Do I really drink that much water? Do I know my lines? When's the next math test? What's going on with my friends?"

They didn't realize the ice-breaking question became a frantic response that was not prompted nor necessary. Tears were streaming down their face. Hands shaking. They couldn't sit still in the chair, nor make eye contact with the faceless person across from them. Did they have a face?

They took a breath.

"I can't seem to find a way out. But, I do know that there is."

"What's stopping you?" The voice replied.

"There's a tunnel, covered by a sheet. In my head. I peer behind it and I see something like joy. I wish I could reach it. But I can't. Every time I almost reach the end I get put back. But I don't think I have depression. I think I'm just STUCK."

"I appreciate that you're telling me this. How can I help you?"

"Is there a way to reach out? A way to not feel like this? Please, don't medicate me, I don't need it. Do I need it? I can get better. I'll fix this, next week- I'll be better. I'll ask people to invite me to stuff. That'll work. Except, I don't want to do that. That makes it sound like I'm desperate. Do people know I don't really hang out with anyone during the weeks? I am just alone, watching Netflix, and doing nothing."



That was the first day and their last. They didn't go home. They didn't call their mom. They drove on that busy road. Silence echoed from their heart soon after.

 

[Pastry]

#2: "Imagination"​

"Mark my words, you'll walk the plank!"

He shouted whilst driving a plastic sword into his younger brother. The younger one jumped back, onto another piece of the carpet floor that represented "the plank." She sat idling by, sipping her cup of cold coffee. She liked it cold, with no ice cubes or refreshing creamer or milk. The brother pinched his sword on the graphic tee shirt of his sibling. His pirate's hat slipped from his head and was a little too big. He pushed it up with his chubby 6-year-old finger.

"You've caused enough harm to our crew, you swashbuckling fiend!"

The words that came from his mouth launched spit across the room. At least he was learning some new words at school. The brother took tedious steps backward, acting terrified. The spouse entered the room, his boots and bright orange-and-yellow vest in hand.

"I'm leaving for work." His cold words echoed and hit the side of her face like it was an empty reminder.

"Have fun." She replied.

She stared at the wall, the ground, or the boys after he left. Making sandwiches, and preparing dinner for the family to enjoy. She hadn't smiled unless one of her children ran up to her and showed her something they found in the backyard. Hours passed by rapidly. She wanted it to feel like years. But the boys didn't let up in their "pirate game," and somehow the older brother was walking the plank as he returned.

She didn't look outside and noticed that it was hours after he was supposed to be back. She didn't look at the food she prepared while she ate with her two boys twenty minutes before.



But, she did notice how she now "walked the plank" with the man she once loved dearly.

 

[Pastry]

#3 "A Long Time Ago"​

"Haven't felt like this before, since can't remember when..."



She had a prowess to her steps. A glow in her eyes. A cigarette in her mouth. A small red dress. A boa draping her sculptured neck. He felt like he could hear her thoughts as she danced to the music. Or, maybe he could hear his own thoughts as he sipped his gin. She was stunning. With the loud music and the number of people, he saw her in glimpses. But every time he saw he she glowed. It was similar to a ray of sunshine behind her, highlighting her from the crowd. His heart pounded, he wanted to talk to her. But as he stood up, his buddy clapped him on the shoulder and asked what song he wanted to play next.

"Play My Girl."

His friend bent down in his crisp uniform and slid in the coins for the next song. He smiled whilst he did it. Soon after, it started playing. The crowd cheered and soon gathered into pairs.

The crowd flowed with fervor, with joy. Nothing in the world mattered other than themselves and their partner. But, the woman didn't have a partner. To protect herself from loneliness, she gracefully walked over to the bar, where he was sitting.

"Kind of a drag, this song." She said, her voice smooth, and out of breath from the previous song played.

"How so?" He responded.

"It doesn't account for the singles looking for a good time." She drew her finger along the table, her back against the bar.

He choked up a response.

"Well, you don't have to be single tonight." He turned from the bar and opened his hand for her to take.

She took it, and they walked to the dance floor.

Their rhythm was in synchronicity. Her hand was on his shoulder, the other slowly taking drags from a cigarette. She smelled like the summer, earthy, and flowery, with a touch of cigarette smoke. Her hands were soft, her face unblemished. Her body was pristine. His hands were around her waist. They slowly danced, the light hitting each other's faces. Highlighting their perfections. His uniform and her dress created the perfect balance. They chatted, they laughed, and in the end, they kissed. They broke their form after the song. But they kept dancing.



As he took her hand gently to not disturb her arthritis now, they danced to the same song. She still smelled like the summer, earth, and flowers. Not cigarettes anymore.

 

[Pastry]

#4: "Ready?"​

A/N: Suicide



We'd grown up since we were little. He was a little taller, a little bigger. But, I still saw him as an exact version of myself. We'd basically eaten the same since we were born. Now, as we are in college preparing ourselves for the future, we saw each other going our separate ways.

"Ready?"

His soft and gentle words broke me from my trance as we pulled up to the store. I nodded.

"Yeah."

After a short amount of time, lists in hand of what we needed, we left with our bags. We got back into the car after placing them in the trunk. We looked at each other, studying faces. It was interesting how he got that scar from me many years ago.

The car ride was silent. No music played. Not even a radio station to keep my mind off the task at hand. It was a gentle climb up a hill into an abandoned warehouse. We got out, took our bags, and went inside.

I didn't know why we were doing this, really. I mean, I knew, but I somehow didn't fully understand it. It was like a trance that I was put in. Notes in our hands, bags by our sides. We made our way to the center of the warehouse. Everything was set up how we did the night before. He set his bag down first.

"Change of plans?"

"No," I replied.

We took out the items and we faced each other, about three paces apart. I could see his breath wisp into the air. I could feel his arm shaking as he raised it. I did the same.

"Ready?"

I nodded, and the gunshots went off. Both notes fell to the floor and became soaked in red.

 

[Pastry]

#5: "Behind You."​

A/N: this isn't necessarily my best work. I can do better on this one. If I plan on updating it, I'll keep the original above in a spoiler.

"all of the meta/analyses do in fact point to the conclusion that, in the vast majority of settings, violent video games do increase aggressive behavior but that these effects are almost always quite small." - Dana Foundation



click, tap tap tap, gunshot. gunshot.

"DOUBLE KILL"

The sounds echoed in her headset. She always played with the music at full maximum, and the sfx at a minimum. She was blasting some sort of heavy metal. Her room was dirty, the sheets were off her bed, and her boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to be back at around 5:30, but it was just past six. She assumed he was just getting some takeout for the two of them.

"10 SECONDS REMAINING"

The voice replied. The game was coming to an end, but she wanted more kills. She bit her tongue and kept fighting on. The kills came soon after.

"DOUBLE KILL"

"TRIPLE KILL"

"QUADRUPLE KILL"

"GAME OVER"

She looked at the leaderboard, and as the front door shut to her apartment, she screamed in joy.

"You need to stop playing those video games."

A voice came from the doorway. She spun around in her chair.

"Baby! It's so good to see you!"

She jumped up from her chair to give him a hug, but he turned away and slammed the takeout bag on the counter.

"I think we need to have a talk." He said.

"About what?"

He walked over to the couch, and threw the clothes and trash on the floor.

"Sit down."

She sat.

"What's going on?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore. All you do is take those pills, drink, and play video games. I mean, look at the state of the house!"

She looked around, the house really was a mess. It was disgusting, and it gave her the shivers.

"The A.C. hasn't been on in months." She said. "It's too hot to clean."

He rolled his eyes. "Really, why do you think we don't have A.C.? You don't even have a job!"

She sighed but felt something boiling inside her. Her expression didn't give away the frustration she had for him. Maybe it was the alcohol she had earlier, and the pills too.

"W-Well I have a job."

"And what's that?" He said, his tone shifted to a serious and condescending one.

"Taking care of you, of course." She rested her hand on his leg and gave a seductive smile.

"Oh don't be pathetic! 'Taking care of me' doesn't mean sex. It means a lot more than that." He grabbed her arm.

"When was the last time you showered? You need to take care of yourself, too."

"I'll shower after we eat."

"No. Do it now." He stood up with his hand still gripping her arm, and she struggled while he dragged her to the bathroom.

"I'll get you a clean pair of clothes, too." He pushed her in and shut the door.

She looked in the mirror. Her face looked masked, a flat face. Her hair was tangled and also flat from the headset she wore during all hours of the day. Grease piled onto her skin, clothes, and face. Acne strewn all over her body. She'd gained weight the last time she looked in a mirror. She wasn't pretty. She opened the medicine cabinet and looked in. Pill bottles filled it. She grabbed the fullest one. "Equetro," it said. She noticed how the bottle was almost entirely full. Her doctor prescribed it to her a long time ago and never remembered to take it. She couldn't even remember what it was for. She looked in the mirror once more.

"Disgusting. Revolting. Foul." She said. In a moment the world became a little duller. A little scarier, a little darker. She saw the hairs on her arms stand. Her neck was struck with gooseflesh. Her arms trembled, and her legs shook. She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. She muttered to herself.

"Who does he think he is, talking to me like I am worthless."

"He doesn't deserve me. Nobody does. I am gorgeous."

The scenes started playing out in her head, all of the moments when he called her those words, pushing her to eat, drink, and sleep.

"I am immortal. I get the double kills, I create the world that I live in."

She stepped out of the bathroom. He was standing there with a towel and fresh clothes. He looked morphed in her vision. He looked like a monster, with glowing eyes and demonic teeth. His ears pointed straight up.

"Are you alright?" He said gently, but to her, all she heard was "Get in the shower, you fat pig."

She pushed past him, rushing to the kitchen. He followed.

"Baby, I think this will make you feel better. See? I started cleaning up a little."

She didn't even turn around to acknowledge him.

"The demon is getting closer." She whispered.

"What was that babe?"

She grabbed the knife in the sink and whipped around, he was standing right behind her.

"Baby, I have your back, I changed my mind, calm down." He dropped the items in his hand and held his arms up in fear.

"I get the double kills."

She screamed and plunged the knife into his chest.

 

[Pastry]

#7: One-Sentence Love Letters​

I love the way that your hair frames your face in the dew.

I wish I could drink your essence every day.

I could spend the rest of my life just thinking about you.

You give my life the "semicolon" onto the next.

You think you're rotten, but I know that's not entirely true.

I've found my place in this world because of you.

I crave a love that drowns oceans.

I find a spark in me whenever I see you.

You grabbed my soul the first moment that I saw you.

You remind me of the start of a new day.

My heart stargazes when I'm around you.

I can't seem to find anyone else that guides me the way you do.​

 

[Pastry]

#8: Imagine​

A/N: This was written during a very dark place in my life, and I look back on it recognizing how it didn't get better until I chose to make it better.

I imagined it would get better.



I imagined it would feel nice.



I imagined it was the right choice.



I imagined it would stop.



I imagined it wouldn't hurt so bad.



I imagined it would be fair.



I imagined I can be free.



I imagined I wouldn't be alone.​

 

[Pastry]

#9: She​

She would dream she was a sunset. That warm, comforting feeling that a bad day was ending for those looking up at her. She'd wished she was the rain that fell on the faces of children playing outside, or the parent that just needed a break and stood in the backyard for just a moment. When she'd get out of her car, and see the drops falling down, she'd stand there and embrace them. She wanted to be that split-second moment before disaster- the "I need to call my family" or "I haven't spoken to my sister in years." She wanted to be the conjunction of realization and empathy. When one's driving past a car crash on the road, she was the little prayer sent to the mother crying by her t-boned GMC. Or the joy felt when a video game was one. She wanted to be the love part of a band of outcasts that had nobody else. That could just be together- with no thought. She wanted to be the spirit lifted when they turned out okay. She wanted to be the soundwaves coming from an emotional set, hitting the audience member with a wave of feeling. A feeling of acceptance, assurance, and appreciation. She wanted to be that moment when a celebrity meets a lifelong fan, and the words "You changed my life" soared into their ears. She wanted to transition from a poorer place to a better one. She wanted to be the color that is brushed onto an empty canvas. She wanted to be creative, overflowing, and everlasting. She wanted to be the moving boxes that a lonely mother would pack her things into to get away from her previous life. She wanted to have a drink of water after a long day. She wanted to be appreciated like the way that Mom's cooking would hit a young boy's mouth after a long day of schooling and soccer practice.

That's what I think of when I think of love. She is love. I haven't met her yet, but God, I hope I do. When I close my eyes at night I think of that blank space waiting for me, to fill me up, to drink me in. Someone that never leaves their cup empty. Someone I can both embrace change and fear loss with. Someone that I can grieve when she's lost in the long future.

 

[Pastry]

UPDATE

feel free to comment, and react on the ones you like. If there are enough on a few, I'll update them with more content and create it into a lil thread. There are no rules in this little space, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I will. It's kind of like I'm posting my thoughts into deep space.

 

[Pastry]

#10: "Floating"
​

Floating.

That's the word when I think of when I'm lost. It feels like my feet barely touch the ground when I'm moving to start my day. Like the water barely hits my skin as it cascades down my body when I'm showering. The bristles in the toothbrush don't really hit my teeth and clean them. Logically, that is the scientific answer, the small amount of space between one object and another, is minuscule. You're not really touching anything, it just feels like you are. But, I'd never thought that I would be feeling it to this great extent. When I hug my friends, my parents, it doesn't feel like I really am. It feels like a lie. It feels like I'm going through the motions and thus-

Floating.

We all try to be balanced between the present, past, and future. We do our best to mask our pain. We take whatever persona we feel like equipping for the day and we put it on, so as to not disturb each other's happiness. Sometimes, doing this helps us put aside our problems and just enjoy the day. But, that mask is that little empty space I call "Floating." I'm not trying to sound so philosophical, but I just like thinking about this. When we put that mask on, we are labeling that empty space as something that can take form. A demon, that corrupts our everyday movements. Those little atoms in space now have a label that can consume us if we don't. We put the mask on, and we are:

Floating.

Holding ourselves to a higher form. Keeping ourselves protected from the way kairos can change our lives. Putting our strengths and weaknesses in a placeholder, so that our emotions don't show through. Our true emotions. Tragedy happens, and corruptions invade our lives. It's difficult to take off the mask once we've put it on. We use it as a barrier to both protect ourselves and protect others. It's hard to figure out when the lies end and our truer selves start. That little space between us and them is just-

Floating.


So, I wish that whoever is reading this takes a closer look at how they use their masks every day. How they lie, and spread their "float" to others. Think about when we hurt other people, is It of our own volition, or is it because we needed to hurt someone just to feel better? If we all brought down our masks, and really saw people for how they woke up that morning, how they were feeling, would it be different? I try to do this as much as I can, but I can't help myself from falling into old habits. Take it one step at a time, and let me know how it works out.

 

[Pastry]

#11: "Faith Journey"​

I went to a private, catholic school from 5th-12th grade. I was consumed every day with the inner workings of God and how it works in our society. Blind faith consumed my life at a young age. When I was 14, I discovered that I didn't have a place in this faith world. My faith journey was moot because I was part of a group that wasn't a part of God's rules. I'd spent the next three years of my life hating God for the decision that he made that excluded so many of us faith-goers. I didn't want any part of his plan. I'd always look at others who loved God dearly, through and through, and I hated them for it. I was jealous that I couldn't be like them because I didn't feel welcome. Senior year rolled around, and I discovered what God's faith meant to me,

and though it's not appropriate to share faith online, I'd like to share it with you. I'm not trying to convert, or change your ways, but I think my journey in my faith life is something valuable to me, and is a wonderful story.

When I was 17, I went on a group trip called "Kairos." That stands for "God's time." It's this secret affair that happens on a trip with 36 other senior class members, and we don't have our phones for 4 days. People that come out of Kairos revolutionize their faith in God. They become entirely different, coming out with multiple friends, and a new way to view life. My older sibling went on it the previous year, and she spoiled the entire experience for me. So the "secret part" wasn't that secret for me anymore. But I knew that I needed to go. Whilst on Kairos, I got violently sick and missed a whole morning of activities. I couldn't sleep, eat or do anything. My favorite teacher went on Kairos with me at the time and went up to my room to check on me. She asked me "Why are you here, do you just want to go home?" I'd responded, "I don't know, let my mom call me." She picked up and I heard my mom's voice say "(Pastry), It's going to suck, but I need you to stay for at least until the end of tomorrow (Saturday)." I wasn't confused as to why she said this, because I knew what was going to happen. I'd sucked it up for the rest of the day and then pushed past it until Saturday evening. There, the group was tricked into an event called "The Dance." There, hundreds of letters written from family members, friends, and previous kairos' filled envelopes, and were given to us. I read every one of them the whole night. Tales of love, sacrifice, and appreciation filled those pages. Each kid was crying. I wasn't because I knew what was going on and I was extremely dehydrated.

After Kairos, I keep those letters on my nightstand. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I go and read those. But, Kairos and the promises of revolutionizing my faith didn't change me. I didn't feel a difference until months later.

It was when I had a few events happen that changed my life forever, and I realized, that KAIROS; "God's Time" really meant something to me. I don't need to believe in a higher figure dressed in white, or a ball of flame, or heaven, or anything, I just need to believe in the baseline fact that when I speak of God, I am talking about his kairos. That everything has a plan. The bad and the good. Bad things happen to prove to ourselves that we can handle bad things, that we are strong. That we are capable of following through and making shit happen. That we can't be stopped and held down, and our wills can be pushed to the limit. That we can be knocked down and get back up. Bad things should happen. They have to happen. Or else, we wouldn't grow as people. Good things happen as a result of the bad things. The universe controls the way our destinies line up with others.

I don't ask to change your faith, I'm not a missionary. But, I like KAIROS because it applies to atheists and non-atheists alike. If you're ever struggling, I like to say to myself that "it's all a part of the plan." Even when it doesn't feel like it. We grow when being uncomfortable, so when you are, embrace it. Make a change towards it. Turn your head towards the fire, instead of away. Because when we love every part of life, the good and the bad, it doesn't seem to hurt so much in the end.

 

[Klaides Tail]

what a lovely bakery I love your writing style and subjects !

 

[Pastry]

what a lovely bakery I love your writing style and subjects !

thank you very much! I love my little bakery.

 

[Pastry]

#12: Breathing​

take a breath, slow down.

Thinking about the last time I didn't have anxiety.

My freight train of worry stopped. When the brakes screeched and hissed, and all of the thoughts got off the train, the plotholes and the storyboards of my life went and got coffee at a train station. Where the conductor didn't have to turn around and check on the passengers every second to be sure they weren't breaking anything. Then, check back on the track so they don't derail. But this track isn't like any other. It's one of the potholes, poorly built plastic screws. It's one where the track curves at a dangerous angle- putting the train on a lean. It's one with multiple turns and splits in the track. The conductor has to pick a direction. He can't because all those idiot passengers are trying to have tea and scribble on a board. These boards are full of gibberish, incoherence, and yet somehow make sense to them. But every time the train turns or leans- their writing screws up. They have to start over again, creating this endless loop of chaos. The conductor can't handle all of this chaos. He can't focus on both the train and its passengers. He's poor, so he doesn't have employees to control the passengers and get them to sit down.

The track will never stop.

There's no way off the train. Someone stole the navigational system. The conductor is screaming to take a break. He hasn't slept in 3 years. He can't figure out where he is since the headlamps on the train blew out a while back. The only support he has is his intuition. A feeling that he should go in a direction. But a passenger butts their egotistical head in, telling him to go the other way. He has to follow the passenger's requests because they're high-paying customers. He has to get them to their destination, but the destination they want was missed hours ago. But they return to that destination, trying to map another way to get there. But there are 100 passengers demanding destinations all at once. He has to go multiple ways to get where they all want to be.

The train is going to flip over. It's going to derail.


But it never will.

 

[Pastry]

#13: Everyone does everything to feel better.

-and no matter what, they will always do what is best for them. Never for you. Every individual is clawing for the things that make them feel better. Money, fame, power, intelligence, stability, love, guidance, joy. These are the things I've coined as the "essentials for life," as defined by society's standards.

When someone is poor, they try to gain money.
When someone isn't popular, they try to gain fame.
When someone feels powerless, they try to climb the social ladder.
When someone gets a low grade on a test, they try to do better.
When someone feels like everything never stays the same, they try to force it to be the same.
When someone wants someone to care about them as much as they would, they search for it.
When someone needs guidance, they seek it.
When someone wants to feel happy, they will do everything they can to obtain it.

All of these things, I've figured out that they mean everything when we lose it and nothing when we have it. So, when we obtain everything on this list, what do we have? Nothing.

Everyone does everything to feel better. When we reach "better," does that mean we've done it? We've finished life? We aren't poor, we are popular, we are powerful, we are intelligent, we are stable, we are loved and guided, and we experience joy. When does that happen? When can we have everything?

We never will. It's an endless cycle of clawing, pushing other people down, climbing, falling, struggling.

So, why are we trying to do this to ourselves? Be in constant struggle? Constantly have an issue we need to resolve?

I don't know. For me, I try my hardest to never have a problem I need to solve. But, there always will be one, and it never extends past myself, to other people. Never, never, try to pull someone else into your struggle. They are fighting too. It may not look like your struggle, but if you wore their eyes and slept in their skin, you'd feel it too.

 

[Alex34]

ooooo! These stories look so good 5 stars!

 

[Pastry]

ooooo! These stories look so good 5 stars!

thank you, the stories come and go whenever i get a writing itch. i’ll keep them up!

 

[Pastry]

#1: Francesca, Hozier.
Honestly, to say the phrase "there isn't much to say about this song," is such a B.S. thing. There is so much I could go into. Firstly, the song's inspiration is from Dante's inferno, where Dante talks to a couple in the second circle of hell. Francesca de Rimini, a woman who fell in love with her husband's brother, had an illicit affair. Her and Paolo, the brother, would keep this affair from her husband, until they were both killed whence they were discovered. When Dante speaks to Francesca, and listens to her recount her story, she affirms that if she was given the chance to live again, she would still be with Paolo even when married to his brother.

SHE WOULD DO IT ALL AGAIN. No matter the circumstances, no matter if she KNEW that she was going to suffer in eternal damnation. No matter the struggles, the pains she had to endure, even her brutal death. She would do it again.

So, this song's premise is about an eternal pain and also eternal love. I saw Hozier live a few months ago, and when this song came on- I had a sort of epiphany that I'd never felt before. It wasn't about the story, since Hozier's lyricism is inspired by these stories, but never just about the one. Looking over the lyrics, and the phrasing of such, I'd realized that I heavily valued the level of commitment emanating from Francesca de Rimini's story. I promised to myself, if I ever valued anyone and committed to someone in the way that Francesca does in Hozier's rendition, then I would communicate that. I looked at all of my relationships as well, asking myself if I would suffer the consequences and still do it all again. "Though I know that my heart would break- I'd tell them to put me back in it." POETIC, magical, never ending love and commitment. Eternal. If I were to sit on my deathbed and think that I didn't want to do everything I chose to do all again, then I would not have lived a fulfilling life.

"Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I."
Oh my god, the ending of this song! To love someone so much that it is beyond heaven... I would sacrifice everything I valued to have a love like that. And that's greed, talking. For someone to write those words, and hit me like a car going 60 miles per hour, is something that I'd never thought I would experience. I don't just love this song, I value every word coming out of that man's mouth. I would do anything to be able to house love greater than heaven. Not only that, but I am religious, and I never thought that I would even think of a lyric as such. The possibility of love being that abundant and fulfilling, I want that. I want to achieve that. But I know that I can't just take that. I'd have to earn that amount of love from someone, and for someone. I can't wait to experience that. But I've always said this phrase, "when in desperation, we get a poor result." I'll most likely mention this more in this thread, but that is just something that I've always stuck by, and it always works out for me.