| Well. I'm a writer and that's my tongue. |


ScarfIn his eyes I was a phantom as cheap as see-through cotton. I swayed in the breeze and he saw me moving; he saw me lithe but when he touched I was as solid as wood. When he touched me, he reopened old wounds and caught my pain in his fingertips, cupped my agony in his palms and he drank from it.Scarf
Drunk on my sorrow he wrote the words I did not. Drunk on love, platonic and awkward, he would recite with emotion I could not feel. I had everything but I was nothing, and he was no one but held everything I was. He was a muse amused by a poets rambling; he was my bane and paradox.
Dr


BitterDusk wrapped us in its ephemeral eternity; moments that lingered before their passing. In their wake, memories would flutter into the distance of remembrance. The ambiguity of time would distort the details, but we still remember the small little things like the date, the shorts she wore, and how water was cold at first and then warm.Bitter
It was April 22nd and we decided to go bathe in the river behind my house. Though the path was treacherous, we made it down the muddy slope in one piece. Covered in mud, twigs and wet with sweat, we sank like stones into the water. We mingled with the rocking currents,
What's up, m'dear Peach?
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Don't you wanna' know how we keep starting fires?
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Beauty lies in the imperfections that make it perfect~
amer O.
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Beauty lies in the imperfections that make it perfect~
amer O.
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Not quite Snow White.
I hope all is well! Laters~
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Don't you wanna' know how we keep starting fires?
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