I think I’ve figured out what makes me the happiest in my free time: reading, looking for new music, and sleeping :)
We all appear strong to the ones we love. We don’t want to be weak, we don’t want to worry them. But we’re falling apart, and no one knows enough to try and hold us together.
From the ashes of the flames emerged a black butterfly. A butterfly that gave her hope.
I think I do it because I’m just lonely. and I don’t think anyone will ever understand it. I don’t quite understand it myself, so how can anyone else?
the words don’t come anymore, and I don’t know why
but when she looked at me with unforgiving eyes,
I knew I had lost myself in my sea of lies
Yesterday, I went on Supreme Scream by myself. I felt odd and my mind elsewhere. But when I got on, a small 8 or 9 year old girl sat next to me and began talking to me. I confessed to her my fear of heights as the ride began to ascend and near the top she reassured me, “don’t worry! Don’t worry! You’ll be okay,” and for some reason, hearing that reassurance from her made everything terrible that happened that day disappear.
and I thought she was an angel that fell from heaven, because god, she seemed like one: she smelled like flowers (but not like the expensive flower perfumes that are too strong), and she wore a white dress that fluttered in the wind, but all I knew was that whenever I was with her, time melted away
last year in English class near the end of the year, our class arranged the desks into a giant circle. we had to choose one of the five vignettes we wrote, and read them out loud to the class. I felt proud of my vignettes and thought I was prepared to share them. some of the stories were happy, some were funny, few were sad. I went close to last. when I was about to begin, I realized before I started speaking that there was a lump in my throat. I forced the words out and my voice was shaking, but I tried my best to level it. my heart was beating and I prayed that nobody else could hear it but me.
sharing personal writing has always been difficult for me. in person, I can at least filter in my mind what I want to say, but my writing reveals my raw feelings. I feel so exposed and anxious whenever someone reads something of mine, because I write exactly how I feel, uncensored.