Bipolartist
Love was not something so easily defined. To her it was always a vague sentiment or an unspoken gesture. Love was not a blunt hit on the head, but a mere graze of a finger across her face. It was not something she searched for, nor was it something she asked of anyone, only something that occurred to her, sporadically. It was never a goal throughout her 21 years...until she met him.
Love was not something so easily defined. To her it was always a vague sentiment or an unspoken gesture. Love was not a blunt hit on the head, but a mere graze of a finger across her face. It was not something she searched for, nor was it something she asked of anyone, only something that occurred to her, sporadically , throughout her 21 years...until she met him.
On some days she wanted to live out loud, other days, she wanted to disappear. The sadness would climb inside through the inviting comfort of the blankets she hid under and take away any peace. She could manage it most days, but some days the best way to feel alive was to just die.