She could tell I was faking it.
Three words. They aren't that hard. I can type the. I love you. Yet they cant be spoken, they stick in the mouth, their bitter flavour tainting the tongue Not even force can bring them out and if managed, well then it would just be plain ugly wouldn’t it? Yet why do people struggle to say those words? Why do I? I can type it all I want, I love you, I love you and so on, but here it’s meaningless, nothing matters as it comes from my fingers to the screen. I...
Peasants.
We all are peasants.
I am a peasant, endlessly tilling the vast land of my master. I have a perpetual inclination to become a slave for lack of education.
Still, I am not ashamed of what I am. My legacy, which I have inherited from my forefathers, will go on for posterity's sake. My sons and daughters will continue to till land. But I guarantee that the land would be theirs to cultivate, for I am about to storm the walls of my master.
May God have mercy on his soul!
"HELP"
"There's no hope," the monotone sound of Sarah's voice echoing throughout the silent forest. I could not see her face, but I knew she was angry. "We have to at least try." I am trying to stay positive, ignoring the heaviness on my chest, my sweaty palms, my racing heart. "Correction- you have to try," her voice now sounded like it was mocking me, "You're the one who got us lost, now you've got to figure it out."
Each breath that leaves a cloud of fog before seems heavier then the last. The moon that lights up the sapphire...
Love.
That's the only emotion I feel as Jeremy wraps his arm around my neck, kissing my forehead.
I love him, he loves me.
He's amazing.
I feel amazing.
True love is a flawless thing. It is.
How does it get better than this?
It doesn't, and that's true love.
The day it burned down my mother locked herself in her room and wouldn't take any visitors.
"Mom, come out of there!" my little sister whined and cried for her.
"No!" "It's not fair, it's not right!" "This didn't happen, it couldn't have!"
Her memories of him, that Winter in 1973 where they sat on the front steps of the chapel and watched bikes and cars drive by... The day they got married; January 19, 1973. When they blew off the after-wedding limo to watch the snow fall, later to hitchhike to their own reception.
It was just like her,...
Some people in masks of Guy Fawkes
Stood to protest Scientology's flocks
They wore them because
It gave them a buzz
And otherwise they'd get sued by those cocks
It was weird, the way the rest of the world could see something that you yourself couldn't.
Like, I look in the mirror and there's - yeah, there's a girl there. And...yes, those eyes are dark, and that hair is...kinda curly, if it's behaving, and that skin is pale, freckled -
And I'm seeing the things I need to do to get to beautiful. Pluck that, moisturise that, define that, conceal that (some mornings, conceal all of it, please)
The amount of times I look at myself and I think that I need to be fixed. That I need to...
I don't know when I stopped believing in unicorns and rainbows. But I know I was a kid. A very troubled kid. Life wasn't as easy as it should have been for a child. Everything was bigger and scarier. Especially the things and the people that were supposed to make me feel safe and protected.
Home wasn't safe. I thought it was. I thought we were the Cleavers. My parents were perfect. My mother worked hard. She kept a beautiful home and prepared perfect meals. She kept her kids in line and made sure we were all just right before...
Waves.
Thats all I saw. Waves, waves, waves.
Just little curves in the ocean, that broke down and collapsed into themselves.
I shiver, and take a tentative sip of the warm coffee he had given me. He shouldn't have come. But I let him; It had been so simple and easy.
The coffee's bitter taste makes me feel like I'm in the ocean itself, a wondrous part of the world that still remains unexplored.
I am that. I am unexplored.
I walk along the shoreline, divulging in the darkness of the sky and the silentness of the air. I think...
This fallen world or the next on. It is hard to be entirely sure of anything; gravity, what to have for breakfast, whom one should marry - fuck
kill
We stick our heads out too far and we expose ourselves in ways we could not have guessed at the beginning when we were warm floating. We forget how to float when we learn how to swim and sometime soon we will learn how to drown - or let go.
This fallen world or the next one. The choice is just as banal as it sounds. But some nights it is...