i was in a shop today and i bought some milk then a guy came forward to me and said Backspace.. that was all he said, i wondered what Backspace could mean.. it was very very strange.. i thought about it all day.. but i couldnt seem to figure it out.
backspace. is to go back and remove one’s mistake. on computers this is always available. behind a computer to backspace, is easy but in reality, to delete an event is hard. very hard.
i feel i don’t have any backspace. Just you, standing behind, watching me and waiting for the perfect error.
Could it be that you’re a mirror? could it be that i don’t want to see my reflection anymore? i don’t want to be perfect. I just want to be ME.
backspace, sometimes in life we encounter problems that we wish we have never did. If only if there were a backspace button just do undo some of the mistakes or some of the wrongdoings of the past. However, these type of things do not exist. To backspace is to forget and not to acknowledge. to move on we must acknowledge out past. we cannot always backspace.
The backspace is like a chance for a redo. Wouldn’t it be great if we had a backspace button in real life? I mean where you could delete the last thing you said or did… Swore in front of your priest backspace motha fucka… Tripped and spilled your wine all over yourself in front of your oh so perfect friend – delightfully backspace able!
“Backspace! Move backwards!” The game went on and on with a roll of the dice. The man jumped across the table. “Do something!” The virtual role-play game went on as viciously as a match in the Roman Colosseum.
Amy didn’t know if Mr. Philips was talking metaphorically, or if he was referring to the story she was eking into existence word by stupid word on her laptop. It refused to be written.
She wore yellow in spring;
in autumn; in winter; and
in summer she wore black.
I wrote a poem about it once,
but as each word met the nib of my
pen and I had to scratch out
my mistakes, I sorely wished that
my life had backspace key.
“Dammit,” he growled. The backspace key was taunting him just as much as the cursor on the page; the page filled with unfinished sentences, half spoken confessions, the letter that would never be typed, never been seen.
Sometimes it’s hard telling the people closest to you something about yourself.
I started typing to my friend. The words ‘I need to tell you something. I cut myself’ formed on my screen, before I repeatedly hit backspace to erase them.
She didn’t need this. It’s better to live a lie and pretend I’m fine.
The letter was written. This was it. The big chance to break away. But then a moments doubt, always a moment. I leave the computer to compose myself and have a drink. When I return I know I can never go through with it and hold down the back space button until the resignation letter disappears.
We live in a world where we’ve created too much. The last true art is in knowing how to delete. Minimalism is the next step. Put your hand on that button and hit delete.
I just used the backspace when i was writing down on this space with so little time in my hands (only 60 seconds). Dear backspace, nothing without you, correcting errorwise. :)
The time between us and then, us and them, it’s long. We skip back and forth, backspacing our moments as if they were wrong. They were never wrong. They were right and I loved them. But I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry for everything. Again, backspace.
Harry deleted the email before he ever even considered really sending it. His fingers locking down on the backspace key erasing all the words he wish he could say out loud. He still wants to, they’re still true for him, each and every confession he made. It’s just. Now isn’t the time, he’s not sure when the right time will ever be, but right now he and Louis are good, and that doesn’t need to go changing.
Backspace _____
what could have been in that space?
For the fact that it was back spaced,
leads to the unknown intention,
or small distraction
or a simple type.
back______.
I sat at the bright screen in the midst of madness. The people buzzing around me looked like static blur as I decided just to backspace it all. Their hurriedness is making work impossible.
going in the direction we wish we could, the one that’s against the laws of nature, we could return oh can’t we return. can’t we burn from the core outward, can’t we grow young again of course we want to when we’re old enough to know better. and of course undo our past mistakes, regrow the tendons, rewrite the words we said. rephrase delicate and proper.
if there is one essential key in a keyboard aside from “enter” it’s backspace. it allows you to redo everything, correct mistakes / typographical errors and gives second chances, in all aspects.
It’s always so simple to hit the backspace bar when writing something. A story, perhaps. But there’s nothing like that for life. People make mistakes, and there’s nothing that we can do to erase them. All we can do is keep moving forward and hope for the best.
Control z and backspace so used to the cyberspace that I forget that I can’t just do these things in real life. Back space like the leftover space where I keep all the things I was supposed to do but didn’t, backed up until I grow a pair, and get caught up on my life.
Psychic again. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the human mind.
I regret nothing. Maybe it’s not foofy. Not something that should be seen outside of a journal. But it was tucked away for a reason. The thoughts were real. Raw. They were never garnished for eyes who would judge them.
Twice too many and then some. How can I backspace from here?
I must have missed the turning hours back and what is in front of us is a complete mystery, unknown territory, wilderness. Instead of watching the map I had been talking, throwing my arms around and enjoying myself, glad to finally be in the moment, in the journey. Now I can’t tell which way up the map should go, how we got here or even where I want to be.
I use the backspace key a lot when I’m typing. It’s automatic for me. Sometimes, I wish I could backspace my life — just click on the keys and erase a few years of history. Not lately, of course, but I’d love to backspace over a few years toward the end of my twenties.
I just used the backspace key about thirty times as I tried to figure out what I would write(the second time) for this word. How silly it is that an author exercise her skills in such a way.
I wish life were like the backspace button on my keyboard. No matter how many times I misspell a word, I can go back and retry, but in life we all just get up in the morning and fail. And fail. Again and again.
“You mean so much to me. I just don’t know how I could live without you. I’m not saying that to be melodramatic…Or clingy…I’m not clingy. I’m not needy. Or maybe I am. I need you…I love you.”
As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to take them back. Why doesn’t real life have a backspace button?
My friend just told me the word of the day, now I can’t think of anything but what he said he wrote. Great, surprise ruined. “The word is backspaced. I am not typing anything because of the word backspace. Aha, get it
Backspace, huh? *laughs* Well, that’s a button I press often enough. In fact, I use it pretty much all the time. I’m terrible for in-process editing, which is why I’ve signed up for this little website. Trying to force myself to just write, you know?
There is no backspace bar for life, unfortunately. But, I suppose, it’s for the best, because we can’t move forward when we’re still dwelling on the past. Yes, you make mistakes and have regrets, but don’t we all? No one lives a guilt-free life.
Backspace. When I hear that word, I think about lovely teenagers wearing old sweaters, drinking tea, and trying to think about witty names for their Tumblrs. I actually wonder if life had a backspace button – would I use it? I probably would. I think about deletion. I can see myself hitting that key and thinking, /deletedeletedeletedelete/.
When I think of the word backspace, I think about the computer – obviously it is the only connection I can make with that word. It reminds me of lovely techno-savvy teenagers sipping tea and trying to think of unique names for their Tumblr. I think about deletion. I think about how if life had a backspace button, I would probably use it.
i was in a shop today and i bought some milk then a guy came forward to me and said Backspace.. that was all he said, i wondered what Backspace could mean.. it was very very strange.. i thought about it all day.. but i couldnt seem to figure it out.
backspace. is to go back and remove one’s mistake. on computers this is always available. behind a computer to backspace, is easy but in reality, to delete an event is hard. very hard.
i feel i don’t have any backspace. Just you, standing behind, watching me and waiting for the perfect error.
Could it be that you’re a mirror? could it be that i don’t want to see my reflection anymore? i don’t want to be perfect. I just want to be ME.
backspace, sometimes in life we encounter problems that we wish we have never did. If only if there were a backspace button just do undo some of the mistakes or some of the wrongdoings of the past. However, these type of things do not exist. To backspace is to forget and not to acknowledge. to move on we must acknowledge out past. we cannot always backspace.
The backspace is like a chance for a redo. Wouldn’t it be great if we had a backspace button in real life? I mean where you could delete the last thing you said or did… Swore in front of your priest backspace motha fucka… Tripped and spilled your wine all over yourself in front of your oh so perfect friend – delightfully backspace able!
“Backspace! Move backwards!” The game went on and on with a roll of the dice. The man jumped across the table. “Do something!” The virtual role-play game went on as viciously as a match in the Roman Colosseum.
“Don’t hit backspace. Just keep going.”
Amy didn’t know if Mr. Philips was talking metaphorically, or if he was referring to the story she was eking into existence word by stupid word on her laptop. It refused to be written.
“What?” she asked.
A back space button Is on your keyboard to erase unwanted words And signs like # its good for mistakes and other stuff go backspace button
She wore yellow in spring;
in autumn; in winter; and
in summer she wore black.
I wrote a poem about it once,
but as each word met the nib of my
pen and I had to scratch out
my mistakes, I sorely wished that
my life had backspace key.
John, I know that I
John, this is hard for me to
John, I want you to know that
John, if I
John, you
John
“Dammit,” he growled. The backspace key was taunting him just as much as the cursor on the page; the page filled with unfinished sentences, half spoken confessions, the letter that would never be typed, never been seen.
John, I love you.
John, I lov
John, I
John
‘Are you sure you want to delete “Document 1?”‘
Sometimes it’s hard telling the people closest to you something about yourself.
I started typing to my friend. The words ‘I need to tell you something. I cut myself’ formed on my screen, before I repeatedly hit backspace to erase them.
She didn’t need this. It’s better to live a lie and pretend I’m fine.
The letter was written. This was it. The big chance to break away. But then a moments doubt, always a moment. I leave the computer to compose myself and have a drink. When I return I know I can never go through with it and hold down the back space button until the resignation letter disappears.
We live in a world where we’ve created too much. The last true art is in knowing how to delete. Minimalism is the next step. Put your hand on that button and hit delete.
I just used the backspace when i was writing down on this space with so little time in my hands (only 60 seconds). Dear backspace, nothing without you, correcting errorwise. :)
The time between us and then, us and them, it’s long. We skip back and forth, backspacing our moments as if they were wrong. They were never wrong. They were right and I loved them. But I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry for everything. Again, backspace.
I pressed backspace, wishing it was that easy to delete the last thing I had done with Marc, of-course life comes without a backspace key
To delete. A button I usually press. I just pressed it now :D
A useful button. There is one backspace button on my keyboard :DD
Harry deleted the email before he ever even considered really sending it. His fingers locking down on the backspace key erasing all the words he wish he could say out loud. He still wants to, they’re still true for him, each and every confession he made. It’s just. Now isn’t the time, he’s not sure when the right time will ever be, but right now he and Louis are good, and that doesn’t need to go changing.
Backspace _____
what could have been in that space?
For the fact that it was back spaced,
leads to the unknown intention,
or small distraction
or a simple type.
back______.
I sat at the bright screen in the midst of madness. The people buzzing around me looked like static blur as I decided just to backspace it all. Their hurriedness is making work impossible.
i entered backspace and found the secret hideout where i used to live all aloof. crumpled pieces
going in the direction we wish we could, the one that’s against the laws of nature, we could return oh can’t we return. can’t we burn from the core outward, can’t we grow young again of course we want to when we’re old enough to know better. and of course undo our past mistakes, regrow the tendons, rewrite the words we said. rephrase delicate and proper.
if there is one essential key in a keyboard aside from “enter” it’s backspace. it allows you to redo everything, correct mistakes / typographical errors and gives second chances, in all aspects.
It’s always so simple to hit the backspace bar when writing something. A story, perhaps. But there’s nothing like that for life. People make mistakes, and there’s nothing that we can do to erase them. All we can do is keep moving forward and hope for the best.
the key is deletion and everything that was written will never be. so when in the cosmos always remember to look back at the space that never was.
Control z and backspace so used to the cyberspace that I forget that I can’t just do these things in real life. Back space like the leftover space where I keep all the things I was supposed to do but didn’t, backed up until I grow a pair, and get caught up on my life.
Psychic again. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the human mind.
I regret nothing. Maybe it’s not foofy. Not something that should be seen outside of a journal. But it was tucked away for a reason. The thoughts were real. Raw. They were never garnished for eyes who would judge them.
Twice too many and then some. How can I backspace from here?
I must have missed the turning hours back and what is in front of us is a complete mystery, unknown territory, wilderness. Instead of watching the map I had been talking, throwing my arms around and enjoying myself, glad to finally be in the moment, in the journey. Now I can’t tell which way up the map should go, how we got here or even where I want to be.
I use the backspace key a lot when I’m typing. It’s automatic for me. Sometimes, I wish I could backspace my life — just click on the keys and erase a few years of history. Not lately, of course, but I’d love to backspace over a few years toward the end of my twenties.
keyboard, enter,delete, forward, back, step, shuffle, jump,
There’s a space behind us. Vulnerable. I know that I can cover it, keep us safe, but i can’t take my eyes off her.
She’s always there, distracting him. Distracting me.
I want to shove her in that space, let her receive the brunt of the attack.
I want to put her in the space behind us.
I just used the backspace key about thirty times as I tried to figure out what I would write(the second time) for this word. How silly it is that an author exercise her skills in such a way.
I wish life were like the backspace button on my keyboard. No matter how many times I misspell a word, I can go back and retry, but in life we all just get up in the morning and fail. And fail. Again and again.
“You mean so much to me. I just don’t know how I could live without you. I’m not saying that to be melodramatic…Or clingy…I’m not clingy. I’m not needy. Or maybe I am. I need you…I love you.”
As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to take them back. Why doesn’t real life have a backspace button?
My friend just told me the word of the day, now I can’t think of anything but what he said he wrote. Great, surprise ruined. “The word is backspaced. I am not typing anything because of the word backspace. Aha, get it
Backspace, huh? *laughs* Well, that’s a button I press often enough. In fact, I use it pretty much all the time. I’m terrible for in-process editing, which is why I’ve signed up for this little website. Trying to force myself to just write, you know?
There is no backspace bar for life, unfortunately. But, I suppose, it’s for the best, because we can’t move forward when we’re still dwelling on the past. Yes, you make mistakes and have regrets, but don’t we all? No one lives a guilt-free life.
Backspace. When I hear that word, I think about lovely teenagers wearing old sweaters, drinking tea, and trying to think about witty names for their Tumblrs. I actually wonder if life had a backspace button – would I use it? I probably would. I think about deletion. I can see myself hitting that key and thinking, /deletedeletedeletedelete/.
When I think of the word backspace, I think about the computer – obviously it is the only connection I can make with that word. It reminds me of lovely techno-savvy teenagers sipping tea and trying to think of unique names for their Tumblr. I think about deletion. I think about how if life had a backspace button, I would probably use it.
a button that you push on a keyboard when you’ve made a mistake to go backwards and delete it. it’s quite helpful. especially when you type fast.