Tag "Psychology" - Works and Original stories

Through the dark clouds of the night, the windmill soared like a sad torch in the darkness. Its blades slowly turned, like the heartbeat of a forgotten village shrouded in mystery and mysticism. The mill stood at the edge of the forest, like a guardian of the night, with its silent rotation protecting the mysterious secrets hiding in the depths of the forest.

In the shade of ancient maples, amid the noise of autumn leaves, stood an old janitor, like the last guardian of an unconquered memory.

The whole baker's house was filled with a note of sweet honey, the aroma of fresh pastries, like a gentle song with nostalgic notes. There was something magical in his eyes, like the stars in the sky at dark at night.

In a quiet corner of the ancient city, among the narrow streets and abandoned houses, stood an ancient church, like the last guardian of the soul of this place. This temple has been a holy house for many centuries, and it was destined to meet the last priest who would sweep through its walls.

In a distant city, where time flowed slowly like honey in spring, there lived an old lamplighter named Abraham. He was like the last guardian of the night, but instead of a sword, he carried a metal torch in his hands, which illuminated the streets of this forgotten place. Abraham was older than the city itself, and his face, covered with wrinkles, was like a map on which all the nights he had experienced were carved.

In a mysterious palace, standing on the edge of the twilight reality, a handsome prince lived, sighing heavily, whose life was a pattern of dreams and hopes. He was a gift of fate, something that could conquer the very horizons. But, like walking clouds, the eyelids of fate revealed their plans.

At the edge of the world, where the heavens embrace the earth for the last time, there lived one soul that lost its bright star. Her life was like an endless ocean full of unexplored secrets and unfathomable depths. But in this ocean, the melody of sadness sounded like a quiet wind gently blowing over the soul, reminding of sad goodbyes.

That evening, the sky blossomed with lights, like a huge kaleidoscope in the hands of the gods. Orange, pink and purple shades mixed in this grand palette, as if the artist's brush was slowly and carefully stroking the clouds. The air was filled with the smell of freshness after a long rain, and at that moment, standing on the top of the hill, I felt that the world was coming to life around me.

n the dark distance of the vague sea, where the sky merges with the waters, longing floated like a quiet fog, enveloping everything around. It was a beautiful world, but its beauty was imbued with sadness, like a forgotten melody sounding in the depths of the heart.

In the remote corridors of the soul, under the ledge of gray clouds, the shadows of the past darkened, like clouds gathering in the atmosphere of forgotten moments. Where the light rushes between the holes in the gray clouds, there lives a man carrying his own storm.

Sometimes your appearance can decide much. If you're beautiful, everyone wants to befriend you. So, what about those, who they don't accept because you don't fit their beauty standards? Sadly, I wasn't lucky to be born as a handsome boy. That’s why my mother is probably the only one to admire me, and I have to get bullied. And hide that I have a crush on the most beautiful girl in the world, who will never pay attention to me and would prefer the irresistible but stupid and mean boy over me.

...in this cozy, little old art studio, you can find everything to be yourself, at least temporarily. Everything besides a real life. But who cares? Or more precisely: why should he care? ["We're alone in the entire world, enshrined within my paintings"]