Everything is always so wistful isn’t? like no one ever gets it. Like really get it. But then again I guess tere isn’t really anything to get. Its all over, becasue that’s all we really have. Is it, and its over and that it will end. And thats the truth. The whol trith and nothing but the t
Kels
Everyday, I am wistful. Wondering why I let you go, regretting my choices, wishing I had never made the poor decisions that I have. You wanted the best for everyone and you brought back the light in my eyes. I long for you and your beautiful personality every minute, every second.
She looked out over the brown lands, the green lands, the little town that stayed near the water, but not too close. For a moment the wistfulness came back to her eyes, that longing long ago to see other lands, meet other people, see anything and as long as she was somewhere else, anywhere else, everywhere else.
But that was long ago, a different person who learned she was the same. Only the priorities had changed. The understanding had changed. The wistful look in her eye remained—but now it was for the little town, all the people still dreaming there, and all that was about to happen.
An immense cloud of regret and longing. Longing for that special someone you once had grasp of, that was once yours. You wish you could go back in time, and fix what was wrong, make them yours again.
sarah hussein
Well, it’s a word that I don’t really know. When I think about it, it sounds like a person who trusts many, and kind of just goes with the flow. They don’t really think, they just do it in the wind of the moment. Yeah. Magical is a word I think of when I see the word wistful. I’m not really sure why, and I bet magic does not pertain to the word wistful in any way, shape or form.
Chloe
I can’t seem to be wistful.
To regret my longing.
To stay away,
From those things
That can hurt me.
I crave those pains.
And it’s only going to get worse.
Her eyes were wistful and her fingers twitched toward the pretty glass ball, but it was lifted out of her reach as the grownups continued chatting. Couldn’t they see how special it was?
ahh, me. Looking out the window at the mute garden. I remember some things. i remember the laughs we had. Oh, boy, oh boy, this is bringing up feelings, small feelings…
wistful and longing go hand in hand to me. i long for a life that once was. a life i used to know. it’s been a long time since i saw the old me. one who was brave and confident and independent and strong. one who was sure of herself and could ignore the distractions and push forward toward the unknown.
I am not sorry
I long for those days
when
I was seen but not felt
like rain in the Sahara
there than not
wet than not
I am not Sorry.
Now nor ever for beautiful days
and sandy beach scenes
like out of a magazine.
No I am not sorry.
I Aways get wistful,
Always seem to not get
Anything else.
I don’t understand this
Word.
And I’m sure no one
Else does either.
Kaitlyn Wells
I looked at the stars and began to think of the world I knew. The world I knew was only in the past, and all that I knew probably wasn’t even true. Because I have only one perspective and only saw things from my tiny eyes. But… there are 6 billion people, and I wonder what they see. Probably not even the same stars.
sarah hamilton
When I look out of a window on a beautiful day like this I don’t see sunshine – I see the ghosts of us and what we might have done with such a day. I see wine for two on the patio, I see hands held as the sun dips below the horizon in a blaze of glorious colour, I see “I love you’s” in the garden and kisses in the heat. I see all the things summer meant before you died. And then I turn away from the window
Kate A
I guess all I can do is hold my tongue,
wanting to call after you,
and just watching your back as you walk away.
I can’t tell you what’s on my mind
for fear that you’ll just
run,
leave,
like all the others.
I will stare at you in wistful reverie
Wondering how we came to be.
A girl on a swing, wistful smile on her face. A beau beyond the orchard, waiting. One last swing, one last time before she stepped up to him, said yes. Green leaves shook in the breeze. She swung high, jumped, and landed.
She didn’t know the time. She turned and stared at the sky trying to figure out where the sun was an what time it might be. The blue sky and sunny rays gave her a wistful attitude.
Wistful thinking, she thought, as she puffed on her cigarette. Surely I’ll be fine, hell, people live until they are 95 smoking a pack a day, and why, I don’t even smoke a quarter of that. I’m young (at 41, she knew this wasn’t exactly true anymore) and just because both grandparents died of complications caused by smoking, she’d be fine.
A wistful act. It actually meant something, you fuck. Don’t leave me out, cold. Don’t push me from your mind. Don’t even think about telling your friends it was nothing. And if you do, and if I find out… I’ll do the same.
Vague & Peculiar
The song always made me feel wistful, like dancing. I’ve never actually been much of a dancer, but when no one is looking, sometimes I close all the curtains and dance around the living room. When I was younger, I used to pretend I was a fairy when I did that. Sometimes I still will, depending on my mood. Wistful. I guess maybe it makes me wish things were simpler. Not that life ever seems simple at the point you’re living it; it’s only in retrospect that anything was ever simple.
Oh, Gosh. I don’t even know what wistful means. Let’s see…wistful. When I think of wistful I think of bliss. This might be incorrect but, “ain’t nobody got time for that”. I am wistfully thinking…I don’t know
Stephanie Saturne
love is like a wistful light in a dark seemingly hopeless tunnel it hurts and affects. Its dagger kills the weak and destorys the strong hope
bec
wistful afternoon filled with such a tired gloom, wispers in the sun rise as the autumn comes to rise. I see a face in the sun and the dooms day is done and i thank all my stars for shinning brightly in the sky.
bec
She read the stars with the wistful gaze of one wanting more, and eventually dropped murky eyes to the tea leaves. A rueful sigh settled into a smile and the girl rose, setting the cup down; at last everything had aligned and it was time to work once more.
Wisful is someone who wants something and wishes for it, but doesn’t try to do anything to get it. Wistful people often end up becoming sad because they don’t get what they are wishing for. Wistful sounds like wishful and whistle. It rhymes with kissable, kind of. Not really though. It ends with a t and kissable ends in a l sound. I wish I was kissable, but I don’t think I am. I am ugly, my nose is too big and I’m too fat. I’ve never kissed anyone before so I’d probably be a bad kisser anyways. I guess I’m wistful sonetimes too. I want to be a good kisser, but I don’t do anything about it. That’s probably a good thing though, if I did, I’d probably have other issues. (Cough, cough, being a slut.) now that I think about it, its probably a good thing I’m not a good kisser. I mean honestly, before high school how many guys should you have dated, let alone kissed? One, two…maybe, none? That sounds about right to me. The only girls in my school that are good kissers have had way more boyfriends than that. So I’m glad I’n not a good kisser, at least not yet.
Lindsey
I watched as the gentle breeze whisked his fringe aside, his old reliable rocking chair lulling him to sleep. I grew wistful, thinking back to a time when sleep was unnecessary and all sense of time escaped us.
Aoife
Wistful: one of the strangest emotions in the human experience. Wanting something without quite wanting it, feeling that slight pull towards something far away or lost. The sadness that comes with it. It’s almost the same feeling as being lonely, except that it’s experiences you feel the missing of, rather than people.
I think back in the days on the Faroe Islands. It was beautiful and harmonious. Everything was like a dream.
Emma
I knew that 3 years would be much too long of a time for me to go without going crazy. I needed to see him every day. I need to see him now. He looked at me with wistful eyes.
The wistful look on her face let me know that she was utterly regretful—- regretful of all that she had missed out on because she did not pursue the dreams that were in her heart.
The breeze in the air made the feeling wistful as he kissed her bare cheek. Her soft and shallow breath against his skin was gentle and light. Her hair flowing through the breeze. He grabbed him quickly and tightly before giving in to temptation and kissing his lips firmly and passionately.
Ashleigh Bentley
I drop a leave a response each time I especially
enjoy a article on a site or I have something to contribute to the discussion.
It is triggered by the passion displayed in the post I read.
And after this post oneword.com | overcome writer’s block | site for writers | inspiration for writers | prompts writers | write prompts | prompts writing. I was actually excited enough to drop a leave a responsea response :) I do have a few questions for you if you tend not to mind. Is it only me or do a few of the responses appear as if they are left by brain dead folks? :-P And, if you are writing on other online sites, I would like to follow you. Would you list the complete urls of your public sites like your Facebook page, twitter feed, or linkedin profile?
gute seite
it has been a long time, however this time of year always makes me feel wistful.
There is nothing I can do. What has been done is done. There is no turning back. Sometimes I see a glimmer of a hope. But that is all it is.
Candz
The coin toppled down the well as I looked up and saw my sister and her friends, still exploring this wide world, playing in the pasture. It was some made up game of chase, tag, and repeat, but to them it was the funnest thing in the world.
So much younger then me everything was new and fresh to her. Every experience a bit of a gold. Every day a wish to be made.
Wistful tears threaded down my cheeks as I heard the coin hit the water below. Ahh to be young.
Max Ryder
i am antsy on our vintage red couch,
it sinks to the floor.
the apartment building is musty;
the robins came back.
blue disappears through the ground and spouts to the bay-
only in my dreams
we lay crying.
you moved to the hotel downtown:
almost six years later it is remodeled,
an ipitome of ugly.
for one reason (maybe more)
i was living by your side,
but i am now reaching far away
because you’re drifting farther into your self help novels and exercises.
no one is around,
it seems.
I called the night i felt faint.
the fan muffled my voice,
a face sunken in.
you are transforming into so far younger;
it leaves me more uneasy than stealthy.
I don’t really miss you anymore, but I miss who I was then.
I miss summer.
I miss school.
I miss the time I had free.
I miss the way your eyes followed me like I was worth everything,
And I miss the way I could trust so firmly.
You can’t go back, and I rarely want to, but I wish I could feel it once more.
I think I’ll let myself get soaked.
Why do we hide when it rains?
It’s just water.
Back when I loved you,
Why did you run away?
It was only love.
Yes, I think I’ll stay out a while
And enjoy the rain.
Everything is always so wistful isn’t? like no one ever gets it. Like really get it. But then again I guess tere isn’t really anything to get. Its all over, becasue that’s all we really have. Is it, and its over and that it will end. And thats the truth. The whol trith and nothing but the t
Everyday, I am wistful. Wondering why I let you go, regretting my choices, wishing I had never made the poor decisions that I have. You wanted the best for everyone and you brought back the light in my eyes. I long for you and your beautiful personality every minute, every second.
She looked out over the brown lands, the green lands, the little town that stayed near the water, but not too close. For a moment the wistfulness came back to her eyes, that longing long ago to see other lands, meet other people, see anything and as long as she was somewhere else, anywhere else, everywhere else.
But that was long ago, a different person who learned she was the same. Only the priorities had changed. The understanding had changed. The wistful look in her eye remained—but now it was for the little town, all the people still dreaming there, and all that was about to happen.
weeping willows
the tustle of green in a cloudy sun
my heart wishing on a star that never goes by
longing for you to be wishing for me.
An immense cloud of regret and longing. Longing for that special someone you once had grasp of, that was once yours. You wish you could go back in time, and fix what was wrong, make them yours again.
Well, it’s a word that I don’t really know. When I think about it, it sounds like a person who trusts many, and kind of just goes with the flow. They don’t really think, they just do it in the wind of the moment. Yeah. Magical is a word I think of when I see the word wistful. I’m not really sure why, and I bet magic does not pertain to the word wistful in any way, shape or form.
I can’t seem to be wistful.
To regret my longing.
To stay away,
From those things
That can hurt me.
I crave those pains.
And it’s only going to get worse.
Her eyes were wistful and her fingers twitched toward the pretty glass ball, but it was lifted out of her reach as the grownups continued chatting. Couldn’t they see how special it was?
ahh, me. Looking out the window at the mute garden. I remember some things. i remember the laughs we had. Oh, boy, oh boy, this is bringing up feelings, small feelings…
wistful and longing go hand in hand to me. i long for a life that once was. a life i used to know. it’s been a long time since i saw the old me. one who was brave and confident and independent and strong. one who was sure of herself and could ignore the distractions and push forward toward the unknown.
i ate nostalgia for dinner
then i spat it out
because i was exhausted
and i didn’t want to go to sleep
with a stomach full of you
(bad for digestion, you understand).
I am not sorry
I long for those days
when
I was seen but not felt
like rain in the Sahara
there than not
wet than not
I am not Sorry.
Now nor ever for beautiful days
and sandy beach scenes
like out of a magazine.
No I am not sorry.
I am not sorry
I long for those days
when
I was seen but not felt
like rain in the sahara
there than not
wet than not
I am not Sorry.
I Aways get wistful,
Always seem to not get
Anything else.
I don’t understand this
Word.
And I’m sure no one
Else does either.
I looked at the stars and began to think of the world I knew. The world I knew was only in the past, and all that I knew probably wasn’t even true. Because I have only one perspective and only saw things from my tiny eyes. But… there are 6 billion people, and I wonder what they see. Probably not even the same stars.
When I look out of a window on a beautiful day like this I don’t see sunshine – I see the ghosts of us and what we might have done with such a day. I see wine for two on the patio, I see hands held as the sun dips below the horizon in a blaze of glorious colour, I see “I love you’s” in the garden and kisses in the heat. I see all the things summer meant before you died. And then I turn away from the window
I guess all I can do is hold my tongue,
wanting to call after you,
and just watching your back as you walk away.
I can’t tell you what’s on my mind
for fear that you’ll just
run,
leave,
like all the others.
I will stare at you in wistful reverie
Wondering how we came to be.
A girl on a swing, wistful smile on her face. A beau beyond the orchard, waiting. One last swing, one last time before she stepped up to him, said yes. Green leaves shook in the breeze. She swung high, jumped, and landed.
She didn’t know the time. She turned and stared at the sky trying to figure out where the sun was an what time it might be. The blue sky and sunny rays gave her a wistful attitude.
Wistful thinking, she thought, as she puffed on her cigarette. Surely I’ll be fine, hell, people live until they are 95 smoking a pack a day, and why, I don’t even smoke a quarter of that. I’m young (at 41, she knew this wasn’t exactly true anymore) and just because both grandparents died of complications caused by smoking, she’d be fine.
A wistful act. It actually meant something, you fuck. Don’t leave me out, cold. Don’t push me from your mind. Don’t even think about telling your friends it was nothing. And if you do, and if I find out… I’ll do the same.
The song always made me feel wistful, like dancing. I’ve never actually been much of a dancer, but when no one is looking, sometimes I close all the curtains and dance around the living room. When I was younger, I used to pretend I was a fairy when I did that. Sometimes I still will, depending on my mood. Wistful. I guess maybe it makes me wish things were simpler. Not that life ever seems simple at the point you’re living it; it’s only in retrospect that anything was ever simple.
Oh, Gosh. I don’t even know what wistful means. Let’s see…wistful. When I think of wistful I think of bliss. This might be incorrect but, “ain’t nobody got time for that”. I am wistfully thinking…I don’t know
love is like a wistful light in a dark seemingly hopeless tunnel it hurts and affects. Its dagger kills the weak and destorys the strong hope
wistful afternoon filled with such a tired gloom, wispers in the sun rise as the autumn comes to rise. I see a face in the sun and the dooms day is done and i thank all my stars for shinning brightly in the sky.
She read the stars with the wistful gaze of one wanting more, and eventually dropped murky eyes to the tea leaves. A rueful sigh settled into a smile and the girl rose, setting the cup down; at last everything had aligned and it was time to work once more.
Wisful is someone who wants something and wishes for it, but doesn’t try to do anything to get it. Wistful people often end up becoming sad because they don’t get what they are wishing for. Wistful sounds like wishful and whistle. It rhymes with kissable, kind of. Not really though. It ends with a t and kissable ends in a l sound. I wish I was kissable, but I don’t think I am. I am ugly, my nose is too big and I’m too fat. I’ve never kissed anyone before so I’d probably be a bad kisser anyways. I guess I’m wistful sonetimes too. I want to be a good kisser, but I don’t do anything about it. That’s probably a good thing though, if I did, I’d probably have other issues. (Cough, cough, being a slut.) now that I think about it, its probably a good thing I’m not a good kisser. I mean honestly, before high school how many guys should you have dated, let alone kissed? One, two…maybe, none? That sounds about right to me. The only girls in my school that are good kissers have had way more boyfriends than that. So I’m glad I’n not a good kisser, at least not yet.
I watched as the gentle breeze whisked his fringe aside, his old reliable rocking chair lulling him to sleep. I grew wistful, thinking back to a time when sleep was unnecessary and all sense of time escaped us.
Wistful: one of the strangest emotions in the human experience. Wanting something without quite wanting it, feeling that slight pull towards something far away or lost. The sadness that comes with it. It’s almost the same feeling as being lonely, except that it’s experiences you feel the missing of, rather than people.
I think back in the days on the Faroe Islands. It was beautiful and harmonious. Everything was like a dream.
I knew that 3 years would be much too long of a time for me to go without going crazy. I needed to see him every day. I need to see him now. He looked at me with wistful eyes.
The wistful look on her face let me know that she was utterly regretful—- regretful of all that she had missed out on because she did not pursue the dreams that were in her heart.
She had a wistful look in her eyes.
The breeze in the air made the feeling wistful as he kissed her bare cheek. Her soft and shallow breath against his skin was gentle and light. Her hair flowing through the breeze. He grabbed him quickly and tightly before giving in to temptation and kissing his lips firmly and passionately.
I drop a leave a response each time I especially
enjoy a article on a site or I have something to contribute to the discussion.
It is triggered by the passion displayed in the post I read.
And after this post oneword.com | overcome writer’s block | site for writers | inspiration for writers | prompts writers | write prompts | prompts writing. I was actually excited enough to drop a leave a responsea response :) I do have a few questions for you if you tend not to mind. Is it only me or do a few of the responses appear as if they are left by brain dead folks? :-P And, if you are writing on other online sites, I would like to follow you. Would you list the complete urls of your public sites like your Facebook page, twitter feed, or linkedin profile?
it has been a long time, however this time of year always makes me feel wistful.
There is nothing I can do. What has been done is done. There is no turning back. Sometimes I see a glimmer of a hope. But that is all it is.
The coin toppled down the well as I looked up and saw my sister and her friends, still exploring this wide world, playing in the pasture. It was some made up game of chase, tag, and repeat, but to them it was the funnest thing in the world.
So much younger then me everything was new and fresh to her. Every experience a bit of a gold. Every day a wish to be made.
Wistful tears threaded down my cheeks as I heard the coin hit the water below. Ahh to be young.
i am antsy on our vintage red couch,
it sinks to the floor.
the apartment building is musty;
the robins came back.
blue disappears through the ground and spouts to the bay-
only in my dreams
we lay crying.
you moved to the hotel downtown:
almost six years later it is remodeled,
an ipitome of ugly.
for one reason (maybe more)
i was living by your side,
but i am now reaching far away
because you’re drifting farther into your self help novels and exercises.
no one is around,
it seems.
I called the night i felt faint.
the fan muffled my voice,
a face sunken in.
you are transforming into so far younger;
it leaves me more uneasy than stealthy.
I don’t really miss you anymore, but I miss who I was then.
I miss summer.
I miss school.
I miss the time I had free.
I miss the way your eyes followed me like I was worth everything,
And I miss the way I could trust so firmly.
You can’t go back, and I rarely want to, but I wish I could feel it once more.
I think I’ll let myself get soaked.
Why do we hide when it rains?
It’s just water.
Back when I loved you,
Why did you run away?
It was only love.
Yes, I think I’ll stay out a while
And enjoy the rain.