cc1423
Cast me upon yourself and let our passion consume us in the dark depths of the night as we discover each other for the first...and last time. In the morning, you will leave me. In the morning, I will be alone.
My feelings. They stem from my heart, or, at least try to. My brain always likes to confuse the equation, cutting them at their root before I manage to express myself. Like a flower crushed, wilted, dying under the restrictions that society has placed upon us all. It is a disaster in the making, a recipe for failure, and I find everything that once begged to overflow ebbing back to the place it came from. All because of them. Us. the world and its power to shape us all to fit its need. A power that stems from the need for acceptance. The need to not be alone.
I hate it.
Assisted? what kind of writing prompt is that! I feel very un-assisted in achieving my goal of writing nonsense in this box while watching my little purple bar underneath all of this fill up. Stupid word in a stupid font in a stupid purple in a stupid place. >:P
Cranes, like paper. Origami. Chinese. Fold a thousand and you'r given a wish....or so they say. They as in the Chinese. So fold them. Pet 'em. Feed 'em if you wish. Not the paper ones. Real ones. In a lake somewhere...or maybe a pond...
When I was little, my mom would always braid my hair, but then again, whose didn't? French braid, fishtail, waterfall, pigtails, you name it, it was dangling from my head. Braids. Causing pain for a youngster and memories for the much older me.