because it’s summer right now and there’s not a hint of the cold. But in the back of my mind I knew you’d be coming.
Autumn approaches with a gunshot buried in its hindquarters. Limping, limping. And Van Gogh’s painted the leaves again. Birds litter the sky. A beautiful mess. Their screams fill each corner of this room. They’re running away from you. I wish I’d have done the same.
You walked into my life like a breeze. You’ve always been there: tugging at my sleeves, turning pages of my favourite book when I’m not looking, nipping at my ankles. And I pulled my jacket closer round my neck, crossed my arms tighter about my chest til bruises began to appear. I didn’t know when exactly the north wind started shaking off the dust from its back but I find myself in the middle of a blizzard. I see you in the distance, my heart in your hands. And I didn’t mind. When I begin to get used to the sound of windows clattering at night,
Spring has come and gone. I realise even summer wine can’t take the bitter taste you’ve left in my mouth.
Was tagged by reykogast to share ten books that’ve stuck with me:
1. Rage of Angels - Sidney Sheldon
2. The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
3. The Thorn Birds - Colleen McCullough
4. Rebecca - Daphne du Maurier
5. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
6. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
7. Number the Stars - Lois Lowry
8. False Memory - Dean Koontz
9. Requiem for a Dream - Hubert Selby Jr.
10. Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Just send me whatever you want me to write for you, basically. Off anonymous, we could correspond better though. Because if there’s too little info given to me, it might not turn out the way you’d like it to. And I’m sorry. But I reply privately if the request’s quite personal anyway, if that was anyone’s concern. :)
Also, I’m not the fastest writer out there. So it usually takes about a couple of days for me to get inspired and finish it. Or if you’ve sent the request midweek, I might post it over the weekend. Because, school, you know?
Working on something for you! Thanks for sharing your story with me.
if tiger lilies had green eyes and the only reason they bloomed skyward was so they could wilt back down into the earth.
because i bought myself these flowers once, a few summers back, when the sun still shone through my window at five in the evening and the rivers were still blue. the florist asked me whom they were for so i told her it was for my grandma’s grave though she was still alive at the time just because i didn’t want to seem lonely to this lonely lady with pearls around her neck. she told me they’d die in a week if i only kept them in water. she told me i needed a bit of earth.
i kept them on my desk and each day, i watched the edges go black like a dwarf the size of my thumb who was an arsonist with mothwings in another life, comes to visit each night with broken matches and three pence in his pockets.
i never knew watching something wither away could be so beautiful. that there were so many colours that existed between a one-thousand-and-hundred-twenty-six-degree fire and black.
on the seventh day, they rested. and i was left with a crystal vase with an inch of yellowed water inside. outside, vultures circled the air.
Thank you! I appreciate your sending in the request :)
One. By the time I turned thirteen, I swear I knew more of death than the dead themselves ever knew.
Two. I had it all figured out for a moment: how I would look for the funeral, what I would wear, the people who’d attend, the kind of weather we’d be having.
Three. By the time I turned fifteen, you died. And I wish I could honestly say that a part of me has died as well but oddly enough, I’ve never felt more alive than ever.
Four. Your funeral would’ve been quiet, if the winds had stopped howling. You should’ve seen everyone wearing black and white. But when the rain started falling, umbrellas went up in unison, the only time the family did anything together. Suddenly this monochrome film was bright and striped and sprinkled with polka dots. It was a spectacle. I imagined you were watching. You loved the sound umbrellas made when they opened.
Five. Nothing changed, but your absence was a looming shadow at past six when I’m walking homeward down the streets alone. I swear the trees would whisper and wave their hands frantically about, like ghosts in centuries-abandoned houses, crying for help. I walk faster.
It started six years ago
with a turn of the head
and a smile so fleeting.
I thought this only
happened in songs
but then you
broke my heart
and I thought this only
happened in movies
but then I’m
falling for you
all over again.
It was six years ago
and we were so young.
It was six years ago
and we knew nothing.
Now, we’re older
but I’m afraid
we know nothing still.
You tell me you do,
so how come everywhere
we go feels like
setting foot on some
Thanks so much! That’s really nice to know.
I changed it a bit, though. Hope you don’t mind :)
Stop wasting time. Stop cheating on her. Stop cheating yourself. —a friend of mine