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Literature Text
That's when Tiana burst into tears. She threw her face in her hands, letting them get soaked. I honestly didn't know what to do... Moments later she removed her hands, and stared up at me. Her makeup was running down the sides of her cheeks, with all those tears.
"Cullen,"she cried,"I just want you to like me! I would do anything for you to notice me! These horrible clothes are embarrassing! But I thought I'd make you happy! Because I want to see you smile, I want...." she trailed off.
Seeing this girl cry, and for me... Seeing Tiana cry...
In that next moment I placed both of my hands on her face. I pulled her face close to mine and with my thumbs, stroked her running makeup away. Her eyes shot open wide, in surprise.
"I do like you,"I whispered, so quiet that I could barely hear myself.
I was beginning to spill out feelings;I couldn't stop myself...
"Cullen,"she cried,"I just want you to like me! I would do anything for you to notice me! These horrible clothes are embarrassing! But I thought I'd make you happy! Because I want to see you smile, I want...." she trailed off.
Seeing this girl cry, and for me... Seeing Tiana cry...
In that next moment I placed both of my hands on her face. I pulled her face close to mine and with my thumbs, stroked her running makeup away. Her eyes shot open wide, in surprise.
"I do like you,"I whispered, so quiet that I could barely hear myself.
I was beginning to spill out feelings;I couldn't stop myself...
Literature
To Dream of Falling
I dream of falling.
It's not a dream common to angels. After all, we have a pair of wings--or two or three--and we can use them. We float upon the air, dance among the stars, shape the clouds with our breath, and so on. All that lovely wordplay to describe an indescribable. A joy, a graceless power. Flight.
Humans dream of it often, I am told. It makes sense. They have no wings save for what they create with their hands. Airplanes, hang gliders, helicopters. Kites. They are obsessed with the sky, more so than the angels themselves, many of whom will fly three thousand miles rather than walk across the street.
And yet I dream of f
Literature
Confession
Lips met in clumsy haiku,
against each other, pressed,
the way the earth touches the sky,
soft and whimsy as the dusk.
Tongues painted passion-
sunset colors,
halcyon atmosphere, infused,
-upon every awaiting space offered.
Metaphors dotted the hallows of limbs and tasted like the seasons-
a bursting and vibrant spring,
a hot and passionate summer,
Literature
Thoughts
I'm so sick of not being perfect
I'm sick of hurting people
I'm tired of doing nothing right
I'm tired of holding back
Let me scream
Let me lash out
Let me show you the other side of me
And try telling me you still know me
Everything confined inside
It builds until I almost burst
My eyes grow heavy
My fingers claw at my arms
Tear out my hair
Twitch for the blade
I hold back
But I can only hold so much
Then I do it again
I screw up
I hurt
I break
And I fall again
Self-loathing is almost a comfort
I often wonder why
Why am I this way
Why am I messed up
Answers won't be found
I'm sick of hating myself
I'm sick of hidin
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Here's a sample from one of my favorite stories. I loved writing this one, it was so much fun I should write fantasy more often lol
© 2011 - 2024 dwkeiko
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