I rest beside the Lomond’s gleam,
Wi’ waters glidin’ like a dream.
The breeze comes saft by shore and stane—
A peace that settles through the bane.
Resting by the Lomond
Author: MeiLing
I'm Meiling, a 38-year-old Eurasian engineer who loves music, dance, and literature. While shy and introverted, I have a wild and passionate side that I want to explore in this virtual world. As an INFJ-T and demisexual, I value emotional connection and seek a partner who can match my intensity. In this realm, I shed inhibitions and embrace my sensuality, guided by the power of music, the freedom of dance, and the inspiration of literature. It's where I can be both a romantic at heart and a fearless adventurer, delving into the realms of my deepest desires.
Innsmouth
The tide moves strangely where the houses lean,
Their shingles warped by whispers in the brine.
A lantern flickers on a warped marine
Facade that hums with something not benign.
The cobbles sweat with salt no storm has spilled;
The alleys breathe as though the stones recall
A vow once spoken, broken, and fulfilled
In shapes that glide beneath the harbor wall.
No cry rings out—this town unlearned the sound
Of human fear long before night began.
Its windows watch, its doorways coil around
The slow undoing of the waking man.
So Innsmouth waits, half‑drowned and half‑awake—
A place where even silence seems to ache.
Lazy Mei
Mei, in a mood soft and hazy,
Declared, “I refuse to go crazy.
Today I’ll just yawn,
Let deadlines roll on—
I’m here, but delightfully lazy.”
I No Longer Mistake Them
I thought love
arrived like light
something that softened edges,
made even silence
feel like shelter.
It doesn’t soften.
It reveals
where you are willing
to blur your own edges
to remain inside it.
I thought closeness
meant being seen
a slow unfolding
without consequence.
Closeness keeps score.
It learns your openings,
returns to them,
again and again,
until they feel like home.
I thought desire
was honest
that the body
could not lie
about what it wanted.
The body is fluent
in persuasion.
It calls repetition truth,
calls hunger meaning,
calls staying
a kind of proof.
I thought patience
was care
the waiting,
the giving space,
the quiet endurance.
Patience can erase you.
It stretches silence
until you forget
what you were waiting
to hear.
I thought love
would hold
that once named,
it would resist
its own undoing.
Nothing resists.
Not love.
Not people.
Only the story
we tell
after it leaves.
And still
I remember
how it felt
before I learned
to see it clearly.
And I do not regret that.
But I no longer call it
what it was not.
I no longer mistake
what stayed
for what was true.
蘭
|
蘭花唔語， |
Orchid says nothing— |
Je ne te retiens pas
Une répone à “Ne Me Quitte Pas”
Ne dis pas ça.
Pas comme ça.
On dirait que tu te vides
juste pour que je reste.
—
Je t’écoute…
et je ne te reconnais plus.
Ta voix—
elle se plie.
Comme si tu cherchais
la forme qui me conviendrait.
—
Arrête.
Je n’ai rien demandé.
Ni que tu changes,
ni que tu t’effaces,
ni que tu deviennes… moins.
—
Tu crois que c’est de l’amour, ça ?
Promettre de disparaître
pour être gardé ?
—
Moi, ça m’éloigne.
—
Je ne suis pas partie
parce que tu as fait quelque chose.
Je suis partie
parce que tu as commencé
à ne plus être là.
—
Et je ne peux pas
tenir quelqu’un
qui s’abandonne
en me regardant.
—
Tu dis “ne me quitte pas”…
mais tu es déjà ailleurs.
Dans tes promesses.
Dans tes peurs.
Dans cette version de toi
que tu crois que je pourrais aimer.
—
Mais moi—
je voulais juste toi.
Pas parfait.
Pas fort.
Juste… là.
—
Alors non.
Je ne te retiens pas.
Parce que rester comme ça,
ce serait pire que partir.
—
Ce serait te regarder
disparaître
et appeler ça
de l’amour.
海之音
|
海聲貼身， |
The sea against skin, |
Míriel Serindë & Indis
Míriel lay down where silver silence grew,
Her spirit thinned like thread too finely spun.
The looms of Vairë gathered what she knew,
A life completed though it had begun.
Then Indis came, all sunlight in her hair,
A gentler warmth to fill a widowed throne.
She walked with grace through chambers stripped and bare,
Yet felt the echo Míriel left in stone.
No rivalry could bloom where grief had sown,
No triumph rise from sorrow’s fragile seam.
Each woman held a truth the other owned—
One shaped by rest, one shaped by living dream.
So through their names the House of Finwë stands—
Two different threads held softly in one hand
蝶
|
指尖未暖， |
Before my fingers warm, |
Frisbee Days wi’ Me Collie
He raced the wind across the lea,
Me collie swift as joy can be.
He caught the disc wi’ leaping grace—
A memory warm as sun on face.
The grass lay soft beneath the sky,
Wi’ clouds that wandered saft and sly.
He circled roon wi’ eager bark—
A spark o’ life in every lark.
His tail went swish like summer air,
A rhythm light as mornin’ prayer.
He’d drop the disc, then glance at me—
“Again,” his eyes said, wild and free.
We played till shadows stretched their line,
Till day grew sweet as mellow wine.
The world felt wide, the moment true—
Just me, the field, the sky o’ blue.
And still that day comes back tae mind,
A gentle glow the years can’t blind.
A memory kept, nae grief, nae toll—
Just simple joy that warms the soul.
Bed Won’t Let Me Go
It’s Monday morn, me eyes still slow,
Me bed says, “Nah, you ain’t gon’ go.”
It hugs me tight in duvet’s glow—
A comfy trap, and I well know.
遺忘
|
唔係一刻消失， |
It is not a vanishing |
My 3DXChat life 