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Literature Text
Her footprints remained in the sand long after she left, like her voice remained in my heart. It’s been two years; the tide erased her a long time ago, but I can still see her there when I smell the salt of the sea and feel the wind whipping through my hair.
Charisma took me by the hand and I thought she’d never let go. We were children on a playdate, tagging along with our mothers to the beach. We shared sticks of rock candy and she showed me the beauty of sea glass.
“It’s formed by pieces of broken glass tumbling around in the ocean,” she explained. “The best kind is from shipwrecks. The glass is really old, and it’s the prettiest. And there’s something so tragic about it.”
Our mothers would pace up and down the boardwalk, keeping an eye on us as we played in the sand and foamy waves. As we grew up, they gave us more freedom. Sometimes I’d have spending money and buy us ice cream to share; other times Charisma would dare me to swim farther out into the ocean.
One day, she brought a picnic basket and we enjoyed sandwiches and homemade cookies--baked, of course, by her mother. Charisma gave me a necklace she made out of a piece of green sea glass, telling me it made her think of my eyes and the way they played with the light. She tied it around my neck and when she saw it on me, she kissed me, and I turned beet red.
It’s been two years since the last time we walked our shore together, and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about that time I should have kissed her back. I work on a stick of rock candy--blue, like her eyes--and I see her in the way the water shimmers as the sun ducks behind the horizon.
Charisma took me by the hand and I thought she’d never let go. We were children on a playdate, tagging along with our mothers to the beach. We shared sticks of rock candy and she showed me the beauty of sea glass.
“It’s formed by pieces of broken glass tumbling around in the ocean,” she explained. “The best kind is from shipwrecks. The glass is really old, and it’s the prettiest. And there’s something so tragic about it.”
Our mothers would pace up and down the boardwalk, keeping an eye on us as we played in the sand and foamy waves. As we grew up, they gave us more freedom. Sometimes I’d have spending money and buy us ice cream to share; other times Charisma would dare me to swim farther out into the ocean.
One day, she brought a picnic basket and we enjoyed sandwiches and homemade cookies--baked, of course, by her mother. Charisma gave me a necklace she made out of a piece of green sea glass, telling me it made her think of my eyes and the way they played with the light. She tied it around my neck and when she saw it on me, she kissed me, and I turned beet red.
It’s been two years since the last time we walked our shore together, and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about that time I should have kissed her back. I work on a stick of rock candy--blue, like her eyes--and I see her in the way the water shimmers as the sun ducks behind the horizon.
Literature
if i could invent words
i would like to create a word
for what one feels
when they realize:
if we were birds, the only cage
we would be in
are the ones
we create ourselves. how many times
have our wings
been clipped
by our own hands
alone. christ, i'm sorry.
dear past self:
i apologize
for trying to define you;
for definition
is the metaphorical cage
to change. the only limit
the sky has
is how far
we can see.
Literature
The Ecstasy Of Faith
You can breathe life into water
You can pull your face tauter
You cannot change nature
You cannot do everything later
Stupid
Like two rock stars
Complaining
One shows off too much
That is their job
To be cheered
To be larger than life
But it is more than hard
Being others dreams
It is a nightmare
.
Ego
Is the reflection of civilization
Your ability to reach its highest standards
Without a stable rung on this ladder
The fun sponge society
Soaks up strength
By squeezing it from souls below
Looking down
The mouth opens
“You are overthinking it’
I hear this lie a lot
Focus is my friend
It brought me everything
Including
Literature
Always
Alone upon the hill,
you stand.
Winters hand,
grips your limbs,
cold wind ripping,
at your core.
Just a shadow of yourself,
stands before the world.
But fear not,
soon winters hold,
will be burnt sunder.
Once more the light,
will fill your core.
Once more you shall bloom,
once more the beauty,
in you shall shine.
and know this,
alone you shall never stand,
for no matter were,
no matter what.
Be it light,
be it dark.
You shall always,
have a freind,
in me
Suggested Collections
FFM Day 9
Word Count: 322
Total FFM Word Count: 6,957
FFM Body Count: 4
Prompt (from prompt bank): Sea glass and rock candy. -- The-Inkling
With this one, I hoped to capture the fleeting innocence of a first crush.
Writing it also reminded me of this song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zgDXI…
Word Count: 322
Total FFM Word Count: 6,957
FFM Body Count: 4
Prompt (from prompt bank): Sea glass and rock candy. -- The-Inkling
With this one, I hoped to capture the fleeting innocence of a first crush.
Writing it also reminded me of this song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zgDXI…
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Comments4
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I love this so much: It’s been two years; the tide erased her a long time ago, but I can still see her there when I smell the salt of the sea and feel the wind whipping through my hair.