Beauty in a Bowl. - Comments

The beginning was already amazing for me. Light is something I can't go without either; it ties into angels and all those things I love. When she said she'd never seen it I immediately felt this absence, not loss. You can't really lose something you never had.

I can feel it though; warm and rich and sometimes a bit cruel. There was something so real and so human about this statement that I loved.

A little girl came to me once, wondering why am I different and /how/ am I different. I told her I cannot see. She told me she can't see too. I asked her how. She said that she has to get up on her toes to see, because everything is so big. Everything was adult-sized, and she was so small that she can't see anything without lifting herself up. This was amazing how did you do that. How did you even think of relating these two separate things so perfectly. So different but so the same.

I am little and white in this mute-black huge world and the world will never be as white as me, nor will I be as black as the world. <3___<3

I asked people I barely speak with to color me up. A girl who I knew through pure chance told me I looked beautiful. I asked her how did I look beautiful and she didn't answer as she wasn't there to begin with. This part broke my heart. It reminded me of a scene with Toph, the blind girl from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

What kind of heart would like to hear breaking songs if it is not a heart that needs breaking? A heart broken-up by the need to see what other hearts do. A heart broken by the world it lives in, by the shut ribcage it lives in. It took me several tries to understand this. I had to reread it several times. And it was amazing. I can't even. I feel like basing a million stories off it. It's that good.

No matter how high I step on my toes, I will not see above what is meant for me. That is how we are different: that girl and I. And finally all the sameness disappears and only the absence remains. This was poignant and the ended was wonderfully open ended.

My only critique is that I think you can avoid saying the word 'blind' in the story, because you already showed it so well. Also I love the way you make layouts. Oldschool meebs.

Just a bunch of gushing but you can't really blame me -hand-

Okay, well, I saw this on the Pimping and Reccing forum. I just had to read it. The feathers in the background are really pretty, by the way.

I loved all of this, and I couldn't tell you why just because it left me unable to make sense of it all. I wanted to smile when she was describing red and blue; all at the same time, my heart ached.

All I know is that this is one of the best things I've read in a while. Thank you.

This is brilliant, to say the absolute least about it.

They melt into crisp fragments, crisp breaks when you step on them, crush them. I mean the sound of those crisp breaks is like little nightingales having a party in my ear. A breaking party. With their little bones snapping and crunching all over my ears. But I'm not talking about the broken bones or their snapping. I'm talking about their broken songs. The song of the bleeding throat, as Whitman put it (with words birthing rhythms). I hear the song, the nightingale chant being broken.

When you read something like that, you know you're reading a pure masterpiece.

Very well done. I think I'm going to go through the rest of your stuff now. .-.

Doctor