I can feel it now, my time is drawing to an end. The ebb and flow of life will no longer include me soon, drawing back again like the ocean tides. Water tinted red from late night sunsets. I’ve been broken before, many times, but never have I been washed away so completely like my name in the sand that I just wrote two minutes ago. Never before have I been conscious about the insignificance of my existence. one day, all evidence of my influence will be erased. there is no escaping this singular truth. But still, I swear the sky speaks to me; their whispers tell me that we are star bound, and even if my falling for you makes no impact in the earth, there will still be temporary meaning found in the way I watch you. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Maybe, I’m just being wistful. Wishing that even though my life is meaningless and inevitably intertwined with void, that your life will matter, that you won’t completely disappear. So that if my essence is ever recycled back into this world, and I am given breath again, and you have long since gone, there will be traces left for me here reminding me that the greatest thing in all of eternity happened to me in this place, and even though she is gone, I am lucky enough to have the ability to be wistful.
Sevio Stanton
the young girl was wistful for a new life.
she was lonely, sad, and unhappy.
a new life would give her a second chance.
she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
she wouldn’t meet that man.
he wouldn’t marry her mother.
he wouldn’t be so harsh.
he wouldn’t even be real
if she had another life.
the young girl was wistful for a new life.
she was lonely, sad, and unhappy.
a new life would give her a second chance.
she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
she wouldn’t meet that man.
Wistful flowers bloom as I walk through the trashy place of doom. My eyes tear as fire hits them. I dont know what to do. Shade blinds the earth as the birds fly back south and the melodies silence. One last tear falls as death takes the world over again… and again. Renewal.
‘Wistful’ is a word that should mean ‘full of wists’, but ‘wist’ isn’t a word. What is a wist? A feeling? An emotion? It sounds a bit like whisp so I’m picturing some kind of misty emotion thing. A misty thing that one can be full of. Wists.
Penny
what strikes tsukumo so strongly with erisyuka, the girl she’s been assigned to guard and care for just like she does with nai, is the way she’ll stare out through the window of her newly assigned room with such a peculiar look in her eyes for someone so young when she thinks she’s being sneaky. tsukumo finds herself wanting to say something, her grip on the tray carrying a balanced breakfast tightening to the point where her knuckles turn stark white, but she holds her tongue, hirato’s instructions clear as day in her mind.
with everything that’s happened recently, it’s very important not to cause erisyuka-san any unnecessary discomfort. formerly allied with their enemies or not, at her core she’s still just a young girl who’s lost a lot of things all at once.
it makes tsukumo sad to think about how long she must have been kept in the dark regarding her grandfather’s affairs. perhaps because tsukumo has a good idea of just how devastating it would be for her to find herself betrayed by the person she trusts more than anyone else in the world (someone tall and dark-haired with stunning violet eyes).
Wistful flowers bloom as I walk through the trashy place of doom. My eyes tear as fire hits them. I dont know what to do. Shade blinds the earth as the birds fly back south and the melodies silence. One last tear falls as death takes the world over again… and again. Renewal.
Niesje Ganderton
His wistful mind allotted him the type of awe-inspiring imagination you see every twenty years or so. He was born to be a writer, and he knew that. Ever since the first time his six-year-old hand shakily gripped onto a pencil and wrote out his name, a name that would later become a celebrity in the literary world, the writer’s burden wrested itself upon his undeveloped, slouchy shoulders. Nole Ackerson, that was his name.
Baye Miller
like nostalgic, this is emotion is my downfall. i can’t face the past without drowning in it, wishing, longing, looking over every missed chance or lost love and wondering what if. i have to make the effort to not get lost in wistful, but to face my present with the same longing.
like to be that in a starry morning light with capes and banners pronounce the march of little and large unions we great the new moons and old with sunbeam pancakes and cakes that fill the soul attic and make writing easier for those with arthritic hands.
reluctant
you spend wistful beginnings, at our spot
daisy sprouted next to canisters of spraying paint
grown by graffiti on never ending cable cars.
i never was until our summer- now anxious
we don’t speak.
The reason I wistfully stare out my window and think about you is because I have never felt anything equal or remotely similar to the way I felt when I knew you. perhaps this wistfulness makes me treat others differently than I probably should. everyone else seems completely interchangeable and it’s my fault. I have no desire to learn from my experiences. Wistful is probably not the right word. I wonder what’s going to happen now. This app is pretty flawed. I used it wrong. This experiment makes no sense.
Eric
I sat staring at the waves crashing against the beach. In the distance the ship grew fainter and fainter by the second. My hopes and dreams were on that ship, never to be seen again. Or so I thought
James
dolls sat by the river’s edge thinking about lights and dances and princes and white chocolate, sally fell into the river and was carried down stream by the current but no one noticed.
She stared at him with a wistful glaze in her eye. He had chocolate brown hair and deep green eyes framed with thick lashes. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have them sweeping across her cheekbones as he kissed her. What his smooth hands would feel like cupping her face- or would they be rough, he did play guitar after all. Didn’t you have to have tough hands to strum the strings?
Nothing beats the feeling of standing on a rooftop with the wind in your face. Nothing beats that feeling of being absolutely free.
And that scares him.
For some reason, he’s scared of being free, even though he knows he deserves to. He wants to be free, but it’s impossible to let go of what he’s bound himself to, totally impossible.
eskimoza
Weeping for a wistful while, she wiped her tears with her wrists of years.
Jessica felt wistful as she thought about her encounter this morning. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to meet him again. Sure, she embarrassed herself on their first meeting but there was something about him that made her think of him. “Time to go for a walk,” She thought.
Bri
she is still here wistfully awaiting when the world will swallow her whole and set her free from its laws.
Wistful for the days when his life was not in danger, Tyler crouched with his back to the warehouse wall to catch his breath. Glancing around the corner of the building, he could see movement coming from in side the warehouse. It wasn’t safe to go that way for sure. Ahead of him, across what seemed like miles of asphalt was brush and trees. If only he could get there safely.
Wistful is reflecting on the past: nostalgia. It isn’t joy, it isn’t sorrow. In other words it is bittersweet. That moment of wistful remembrance is just as painful and beautiful as the moment you lived it.
sophie
wistful
i do think
wind
i do think
light
i do think
beaches
i’m glad for the
i’m glad for the
never stopping
never stopping
thinking always
the wind
Anastasia
I thought about how we could have been together. How I could be holding you in my arms right now. I’m sorry about all of the mistakes I made. I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible person to you. In the end, I realized that instead of this wistful thinking, I should be glad that what I’ve done in the past has helped form the stronger person that I am today.
Just like the trees, we bend our knees, but with no wind needed.
Just as we feel wistful, trying to turn it into blissful, we blindly believe.
Believe in the imagined, and hoping we’re not for Him the abandoned, we pray to be forgiven.
Fuck wistful. Sick of my heart leaping out of my chest and trying to run ahead of me. It’s skipping everything in my life happening right now. There is such a thing as too much wishing. Too much wishing can distract from now. Sometimes you have to tell your heart to slow a beat or two so you can take a second to see where you are and love that, too. I’m sick of wistful. That stupid word makes me think of the proper ladies wearing obnoxiously heavy summer dresses while fanning themselves in the sun and sipping cold lemonade sighing, “my oh my…” or whatever proper ladies who do these things actually say. Fuck wistful.
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
mariana
She saw him from across the room; that boy she had lost so many years ago. Her mind was flooded with memories of him. The way he smelled, talked, walked, the way he would brush the hair out of her eyes. A wistful smile fluttered across her lips as she made her way towards him. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a tall, beautiful blonde loop her arm through his. She saw her kiss his cheek and she knew, she knew he had moved on. She turned away, heartbroken.
Wistful thinking. Wishing you could change the past. Wishing you were something other than what you are.
Perhaps such thinking can be useful as a guide in planning for the future. But otherwise, it can only lead to gloom and depression, a negative self-image.
I can feel it now, my time is drawing to an end. The ebb and flow of life will no longer include me soon, drawing back again like the ocean tides. Water tinted red from late night sunsets. I’ve been broken before, many times, but never have I been washed away so completely like my name in the sand that I just wrote two minutes ago. Never before have I been conscious about the insignificance of my existence. one day, all evidence of my influence will be erased. there is no escaping this singular truth. But still, I swear the sky speaks to me; their whispers tell me that we are star bound, and even if my falling for you makes no impact in the earth, there will still be temporary meaning found in the way I watch you. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Maybe, I’m just being wistful. Wishing that even though my life is meaningless and inevitably intertwined with void, that your life will matter, that you won’t completely disappear. So that if my essence is ever recycled back into this world, and I am given breath again, and you have long since gone, there will be traces left for me here reminding me that the greatest thing in all of eternity happened to me in this place, and even though she is gone, I am lucky enough to have the ability to be wistful.
the young girl was wistful for a new life.
she was lonely, sad, and unhappy.
a new life would give her a second chance.
she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
she wouldn’t meet that man.
he wouldn’t marry her mother.
he wouldn’t be so harsh.
he wouldn’t even be real
if she had another life.
the young girl was wistful for a new life.
the young girl was wistful for a new life.
she was lonely, sad, and unhappy.
a new life would give her a second chance.
she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
she wouldn’t meet that man.
Wistful flowers bloom as I walk through the trashy place of doom. My eyes tear as fire hits them. I dont know what to do. Shade blinds the earth as the birds fly back south and the melodies silence. One last tear falls as death takes the world over again… and again. Renewal.
‘Wistful’ is a word that should mean ‘full of wists’, but ‘wist’ isn’t a word. What is a wist? A feeling? An emotion? It sounds a bit like whisp so I’m picturing some kind of misty emotion thing. A misty thing that one can be full of. Wists.
what strikes tsukumo so strongly with erisyuka, the girl she’s been assigned to guard and care for just like she does with nai, is the way she’ll stare out through the window of her newly assigned room with such a peculiar look in her eyes for someone so young when she thinks she’s being sneaky. tsukumo finds herself wanting to say something, her grip on the tray carrying a balanced breakfast tightening to the point where her knuckles turn stark white, but she holds her tongue, hirato’s instructions clear as day in her mind.
with everything that’s happened recently, it’s very important not to cause erisyuka-san any unnecessary discomfort. formerly allied with their enemies or not, at her core she’s still just a young girl who’s lost a lot of things all at once.
it makes tsukumo sad to think about how long she must have been kept in the dark regarding her grandfather’s affairs. perhaps because tsukumo has a good idea of just how devastating it would be for her to find herself betrayed by the person she trusts more than anyone else in the world (someone tall and dark-haired with stunning violet eyes).
Wistful flowers bloom as I walk through the trashy place of doom. My eyes tear as fire hits them. I dont know what to do. Shade blinds the earth as the birds fly back south and the melodies silence. One last tear falls as death takes the world over again… and again. Renewal.
His wistful mind allotted him the type of awe-inspiring imagination you see every twenty years or so. He was born to be a writer, and he knew that. Ever since the first time his six-year-old hand shakily gripped onto a pencil and wrote out his name, a name that would later become a celebrity in the literary world, the writer’s burden wrested itself upon his undeveloped, slouchy shoulders. Nole Ackerson, that was his name.
like nostalgic, this is emotion is my downfall. i can’t face the past without drowning in it, wishing, longing, looking over every missed chance or lost love and wondering what if. i have to make the effort to not get lost in wistful, but to face my present with the same longing.
like to be that in a starry morning light with capes and banners pronounce the march of little and large unions we great the new moons and old with sunbeam pancakes and cakes that fill the soul attic and make writing easier for those with arthritic hands.
you spend wistful beginnings, at our spot
daisy sprouted next to canisters of spraying paint
grown by graffiti on never ending cable cars.
i never was until our summer- now anxious
we don’t speak.
The reason I wistfully stare out my window and think about you is because I have never felt anything equal or remotely similar to the way I felt when I knew you. perhaps this wistfulness makes me treat others differently than I probably should. everyone else seems completely interchangeable and it’s my fault. I have no desire to learn from my experiences. Wistful is probably not the right word. I wonder what’s going to happen now. This app is pretty flawed. I used it wrong. This experiment makes no sense.
I sat staring at the waves crashing against the beach. In the distance the ship grew fainter and fainter by the second. My hopes and dreams were on that ship, never to be seen again. Or so I thought
dolls sat by the river’s edge thinking about lights and dances and princes and white chocolate, sally fell into the river and was carried down stream by the current but no one noticed.
She stared at him with a wistful glaze in her eye. He had chocolate brown hair and deep green eyes framed with thick lashes. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have them sweeping across her cheekbones as he kissed her. What his smooth hands would feel like cupping her face- or would they be rough, he did play guitar after all. Didn’t you have to have tough hands to strum the strings?
Nothing beats the feeling of standing on a rooftop with the wind in your face. Nothing beats that feeling of being absolutely free.
And that scares him.
For some reason, he’s scared of being free, even though he knows he deserves to. He wants to be free, but it’s impossible to let go of what he’s bound himself to, totally impossible.
Weeping for a wistful while, she wiped her tears with her wrists of years.
She had a wistful expression oh her face when he walked by. He just had that effect on her I guess. Personally I didn’t see the attraction.
Jessica felt wistful as she thought about her encounter this morning. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to meet him again. Sure, she embarrassed herself on their first meeting but there was something about him that made her think of him. “Time to go for a walk,” She thought.
she is still here wistfully awaiting when the world will swallow her whole and set her free from its laws.
Wistful for the days when his life was not in danger, Tyler crouched with his back to the warehouse wall to catch his breath. Glancing around the corner of the building, he could see movement coming from in side the warehouse. It wasn’t safe to go that way for sure. Ahead of him, across what seemed like miles of asphalt was brush and trees. If only he could get there safely.
Wistful is reflecting on the past: nostalgia. It isn’t joy, it isn’t sorrow. In other words it is bittersweet. That moment of wistful remembrance is just as painful and beautiful as the moment you lived it.
wistful
i do think
wind
i do think
light
i do think
beaches
i’m glad for the
i’m glad for the
never stopping
never stopping
thinking always
the wind
I thought about how we could have been together. How I could be holding you in my arms right now. I’m sorry about all of the mistakes I made. I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible person to you. In the end, I realized that instead of this wistful thinking, I should be glad that what I’ve done in the past has helped form the stronger person that I am today.
Just like the trees, we bend our knees, but with no wind needed.
Just as we feel wistful, trying to turn it into blissful, we blindly believe.
Believe in the imagined, and hoping we’re not for Him the abandoned, we pray to be forgiven.
Fuck wistful. Sick of my heart leaping out of my chest and trying to run ahead of me. It’s skipping everything in my life happening right now. There is such a thing as too much wishing. Too much wishing can distract from now. Sometimes you have to tell your heart to slow a beat or two so you can take a second to see where you are and love that, too. I’m sick of wistful. That stupid word makes me think of the proper ladies wearing obnoxiously heavy summer dresses while fanning themselves in the sun and sipping cold lemonade sighing, “my oh my…” or whatever proper ladies who do these things actually say. Fuck wistful.
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
i dont know anything about this word jesus i dont know what to writee im just waitiing for time to endd come onnnn i dont even know anythingg go go go secondss now i think its 333333…2222….111….000
She saw him from across the room; that boy she had lost so many years ago. Her mind was flooded with memories of him. The way he smelled, talked, walked, the way he would brush the hair out of her eyes. A wistful smile fluttered across her lips as she made her way towards him. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a tall, beautiful blonde loop her arm through his. She saw her kiss his cheek and she knew, she knew he had moved on. She turned away, heartbroken.
Wistful thinking. Wishing you could change the past. Wishing you were something other than what you are.
Perhaps such thinking can be useful as a guide in planning for the future. But otherwise, it can only lead to gloom and depression, a negative self-image.
She was wistful thinking about the past.