Samuel Olukayode
Bio
"Never pretend to a love which you do not actually feel, for love is not ours to command." — Alan Watts
Stories (13/0)
Beginning and Beginning and Beginning.
Nothing is as sad as when something ends. Yet there isn't a single thing I cherish more. Because whenever something is over, it means something new is afoot. And that something can be immensely exciting. Creating is that for me. I express myself through so many different mediums and within each, I find another reason to love living. The first time I really drew something, I rushed to show my father and he just sort of looked at it (He was cooking). Then he comments: "Why his feet so damn big?". It was a character named Riku, from a franchise called Kingdom Hearts.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Psyche
⌭ Emerald Eye ⌭ [Part II]
“Fucking litebrite!” Azra boomed, cratering a large boulder with her fist. No debris or sediment sprayed, though it did cause a localized quake in the forest clearing. It was more like the boulder had been scooped out, or pushed inward. Reshaped in a manner.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Futurism
⌭ Oscar & Brae ⌭ [PART II]
Brae made her way to the pod as Oscar scooted back to his console. After a few silent taps, all the screens became a puzzle constructed of the pod's interior. Brae stepped inside after the doors decompressed. Perfectly in frame on the monitors she looked large and small all at once.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Futurism
⌭ Oscar & Brae ⌭ [PART I]
Brae stood feeling the familiar tides of unease rising within. Despite the near countless joules of bright cosmic light coursing through her, the reality of certain death had a way of making her feel nothing, but dim. She looked on as Oscar diligently tapped away at his console.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Futurism
Pages of Affection.
I don't know what love is. I can't. I don't believe any of us can, really. There are too many facets to it for there to be one way of knowing. Like gems and rigid edge stones, every single individual's version of love that's experienced differs vastly. Like yours and mine. I believe both our loves are hard as obsidian, but with hints of something otherworldly and delicate in a way.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Humans
finding joy
Stand tall. You're going to have stones cast at your knees the moment you begin to walk. Let them pelt. Let your soles squelch, ask for no help as you wade through your own blood. They will call it a weakness. They will convince you, you are of demons and monsters, deacons will prosper from the misfortune that leads your people to tides. No one will tell you it's okay to cry as tides threaten to spill from your deep...deep brown eyes. Surrounding those pupils are pearls even if they seem dark. You are not darkness.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Poets
from your spirit.
Around five years ago, both my moms and pops had a change in faith. My mother turned to one of Christianity, rooted in what I can't help, but consider a befuddling radical perspective; Whilst my father adopted the mantle of a found and fraught Israelite. Though vastly different and indifferent individuals to each other, they both share the need to believe there is purpose in the world.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Motivation
bigger than you
Whoosh, Whoosh. Swish...Shhhhk. Snowy mists sprayed up and around a lean jacketed silhouette. Each step, glide and action leaving behind perfectly perfected markings in the white blanket. A canvas for an uncaged spirit. The trails made, bore a hieroglyphic and picturesque fantasy more enchanting than any wonderland, could ever dream of being. Lucja hadn’t known how long he’d been going— it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when he was moving like this.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Humans
bleeding in black
Walsh loved cold water. To bask in it’s frigid therapy. Ice bobbed and floated about large submerged hands, tapping lightly against the fingers like thoughtful inanimate friends. Each one inquiring; “You okay?”, “Hurt much?”. Pink wisps curled from his bruised knuckles as he flexed his fists in the bowl. He watched the light hue be overtaken by crimson. Firm, hot hands melted away his numbness as they landed on his broad shoulders. He turned to see his mother looking up. Anike was a small woman.
By Samuel Olukayode3 years ago in Families