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Literature Text
It is that time of the year when her mind is filled with evening dark skies and snow flurries. Sodium lights spill orange on black ice and the night is frozen in quiet. It's that time of the year when she's on her way through the wind and the harshness against her face to visit her friend in the hospital. He attempted suicide, so it's a must to visit him and entertain thoughts of being in his position.
It's cold and she misses her family. Any sort of New Year's resolutions are forgotten in crystals of mud underneath her boots.
In her mind she is back home in front of the Christmas tree and hoping and wishing that time could stop, that life could freeze if for but a few moments more. In her mind she does not miss her family because the ones hopelessly attached to her heart are in the same room.
It is that time of the year when the air is crisp and cold and reminds her of failure and scars and intentions gone wrong. So she does not sleep some nights because staring out the window and watching the delicacy of snowfall, the blanketing of pavement keeps her mind off the desperation. Yet some nights she realizes that she's equally obsessed with the trauma.
It is the season of intense emotion and pain because her friend tried to kill himself, she's falling in love with someone only half in love with her, Christmas was too short and religion is important again. God creates the silence of winter so that people like her can think and feel in solitude or confide in the friends that thought it was too cold to go out that night.
Skin taut and bitter with cold, snowflakes on her lashes, thighs numb because jeans don't retain heat, she shivers. She is in front of the hospital panting and watching her breath float, disappear. She imagines watching the night from inside from a patient bed with family and love as in front of the Christmas tree and the dinner table and home cooked food.
"Do you miss me?"
It's cold and she misses her family. Any sort of New Year's resolutions are forgotten in crystals of mud underneath her boots.
In her mind she is back home in front of the Christmas tree and hoping and wishing that time could stop, that life could freeze if for but a few moments more. In her mind she does not miss her family because the ones hopelessly attached to her heart are in the same room.
It is that time of the year when the air is crisp and cold and reminds her of failure and scars and intentions gone wrong. So she does not sleep some nights because staring out the window and watching the delicacy of snowfall, the blanketing of pavement keeps her mind off the desperation. Yet some nights she realizes that she's equally obsessed with the trauma.
It is the season of intense emotion and pain because her friend tried to kill himself, she's falling in love with someone only half in love with her, Christmas was too short and religion is important again. God creates the silence of winter so that people like her can think and feel in solitude or confide in the friends that thought it was too cold to go out that night.
Skin taut and bitter with cold, snowflakes on her lashes, thighs numb because jeans don't retain heat, she shivers. She is in front of the hospital panting and watching her breath float, disappear. She imagines watching the night from inside from a patient bed with family and love as in front of the Christmas tree and the dinner table and home cooked food.
"Do you miss me?"
Handcuffed behind the back close-up
If you love handcuffs behind the back, in arresting positions, and really good CLOSE-UPS, enjoy my shares. Handcuffs, ropes, even NO bondage; I only focus on women's hands shown behind "PALMS OPEN,"
and showing more femininity. None of this tied "PALMS TOGETHER. Prayer position" nonsense. where is the fun in that? 🤷
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Literature
Untitled
I'm not sure;
i.
my hands don't remember how to write, and
my mind isn't used to sharing -
in words, at least
ii.
there are days when I want to cut parts of my body off;
my stomach and legs and all the places girls don't like
and I know what I need to do to be well; sabotage
iii.
I have a boy who loves me and today we ran around in the garden
he says I am beautiful
iv.
for a moment I thought my cluttered room was making
my lipid stores cluttered: if I clean and clean, I'm clean
and then, maybe not
v.
if I look at enough girls I can feel sad enough too
vi.
I went home and found my awards for being clever
and wondered what changed,
Literature
More than today
I find it quite reasonable
To aspire to more than reality
Everyday is a blank canvas
Why limit the fantastic?
I see you years from now
A glow with renewing confidence
In the fact that you are doing your best
And nothing is more satisfying
Than extending yourself
Different lessons time to time
Fresh air in your lungs
New eyes each sunset
A shade of depth is added
Moments engraved in your soul
Whether you remember it all
Or let the sand slip away
You are what you are
Now and continually
In years of decisions
So build yourself fine my friend
Your circumstances will change
Know that youre not measured
In gray skies or frigid ice
But in the form y
Literature
Love Me Back
Love me back.
It's been four years and two breakups later and I still don't know how to tell you that I know that you're as scared to love me as your dog is afraid of thunderstorms. And sometimes I wish we could walk around in those thundershirts to see if it would make loving me any less earth-shattering, but I know better than that. I know better than to wish for a lightning storm. I'm the kind of guy that gets struck twice, and you're the one hiding in the basement waiting for it to be over.
She told me that she's an all-in-but-afraid-to-lose-me kind of girl, just as you're an all-out-but-afraid-to-love-me kind of boy. Most days it feels
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i like this a little more now. edited 2012.1.25
© 2012 - 2024 heart-terrors
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Amazing. *O*