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Literature Text
dear sea,
i fell in love with this boy, once. his eyes were the same color as yours, and his voice should have been recorded and played in seashells, it was so beautiful and soft. i was so deeply in love with him, i drowned. it was dark, and sort of warm, but more than that, it was beautiful. when the seaweed wrapped around my wrists, it was like his fingers when he grabbed my hands together in one hand and told me he loved me. i was seeing stars, and they were in his sad, lonely eyes.
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dear trees,
there was a boy, and he smelled like you. he smelled like beauty and sadness and being alone in your attic, with old boxes and shoes and a giant mirror. no one is lonelier than him. he is like a puzzle piece that fits nowhere, the star without a constellation. but he was more beautiful, because he didn't fit in. i loved him with all my heart, but it wasn't enough to save him.
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dear sky,
you know that feeling where you go too high, and you stop being able to breathe very well? that was how i felt the first time he held my hand. my heart was all over the place, and i couldn't really think very well, except my head kept looping to how my palms sweated when i got nervous and how i thought maybe my hair was too wind-blown. it was like when you pick up something beautiful and priceless, and you're afraid you'll accidentally break it or something. he was like that, you know.
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dear boy,
today, i really missed you. you're in the ocean and the trees and the sky. you're everywhere, and there are all these constant reminders as to why you aren't here. what isn't there, that always tells the story. your hand not being in mine, for instance, reveals the short lifeline, and shattered heart line. i am full of absence, like a corpse filled with sawdust, and it's leaking from the corners of my eyes, mostly when i'm alone, and it makes my tongue taste like dirty nickels.
i'm sorry, i really am so sorry. if you ever got this letter, maybe you could forgive me. but you won't, and it's better that way.
i fell in love with this boy, once. his eyes were the same color as yours, and his voice should have been recorded and played in seashells, it was so beautiful and soft. i was so deeply in love with him, i drowned. it was dark, and sort of warm, but more than that, it was beautiful. when the seaweed wrapped around my wrists, it was like his fingers when he grabbed my hands together in one hand and told me he loved me. i was seeing stars, and they were in his sad, lonely eyes.
-
dear trees,
there was a boy, and he smelled like you. he smelled like beauty and sadness and being alone in your attic, with old boxes and shoes and a giant mirror. no one is lonelier than him. he is like a puzzle piece that fits nowhere, the star without a constellation. but he was more beautiful, because he didn't fit in. i loved him with all my heart, but it wasn't enough to save him.
-
dear sky,
you know that feeling where you go too high, and you stop being able to breathe very well? that was how i felt the first time he held my hand. my heart was all over the place, and i couldn't really think very well, except my head kept looping to how my palms sweated when i got nervous and how i thought maybe my hair was too wind-blown. it was like when you pick up something beautiful and priceless, and you're afraid you'll accidentally break it or something. he was like that, you know.
-
dear boy,
today, i really missed you. you're in the ocean and the trees and the sky. you're everywhere, and there are all these constant reminders as to why you aren't here. what isn't there, that always tells the story. your hand not being in mine, for instance, reveals the short lifeline, and shattered heart line. i am full of absence, like a corpse filled with sawdust, and it's leaking from the corners of my eyes, mostly when i'm alone, and it makes my tongue taste like dirty nickels.
i'm sorry, i really am so sorry. if you ever got this letter, maybe you could forgive me. but you won't, and it's better that way.
Literature
i dont understand
have you ever woken up and not thought anything at all?
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somtimes i find myself thinking that 'it'd be fun to go and stand out in the rain' so i do. but once i'm out there i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be invigorating to take off my clothes' so i do. but once i've done that, i find myself thinking 'wouldn't it be beautiful to climb on the rooftop', so i do. and then once i'm standing there, i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be magical to fall in love' and so i try. i try and try and try but i can't. and so there i am, standing naked on my rooftop in the rain trying to fall in love.
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sometimes i find myself imagining that all w
Literature
sunday thoughts
you are glowbracelets
and fireflies and oatmeal raisin cookies.
you are thunderstorms
and comic books and afternoons on the bleachers.
you are constellations
and crinkled denim and nights spent on the park bridge.
you are the best thing
i could ever hope for and i love you more than should be allowed.
Literature
confessions of lostwithoutyou.
i'm not a liar. but i never told you that you always looked best in black. i liked how your skin would fade to a paler shade of perfection and your perfect teeth would glint a little brighter. and i could pretend for an evening that you were my black and white dream come true. and with you there would be no shades of inbetweens and no grays for us to get lost in. i never told you but it's true.
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i was never able to tell you, but i hate the way you cook your 'specialty' eggs. you always laughed over your shoulder and told me that they are the best food ill ever eat, that i was blessed to get the chance to taste them melt
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feeling a little sad today.
sorry to post so much, i just had to write.
sorry to post so much, i just had to write.
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