danapham
She sat there, shoulders hunched over, shaking uncontrollably, crying into her hands. She had no shoulder to cry on, no arms to fall into, no one to tell her everything would be okay. The only person who had been there for her in the past just left her, with no plausible explanation as to why. She had been left to drown in her own tears of misery, with the question "why?" running through her head over and over again.
It is obvious that I must be very bored if I am on Oneword on Christmas day. Such a tragedy, just like my only Christmas present, socks.
Probability. It ruins lives. Those men who take their life savings to Las Vegas? They spend it on probability. It is probable that they may win back twice that savings in cash. It is also probable that he will lose every penny, and come back to his wife, who will soon become his ex-wife. Probability, it ruins lives.
I'm on a mission. It is of utmost importance. I am trying to save the world through a press of a button. Click! Ten grains of rice is added. Click! My vocabulary has just become a little bit more broad. Click! A child is saved from starvation. Click! I'm saving the world through freerice.com =]
Jen shuts out the outside world with Eminem's lyrics. Charlie's sorrows are drowned in cheap liquor. Marian's pain spills out with every cut. Tyler only has eyes for the little girl smiling up at him, his daughter. Jordan pours her heart out on the pages of her journal. Marlo's anger is soothed with every strum of his guitar. They all want to escape.
Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.
Why did the orphan cross the road? To find his parents. (What parents?)
Why did the rooster cross the road? To prove he isn't a chicken.
What do you call a chicken that crosses the road without looking both ways? Dead.
What do you call a person who actually spent time to read all of this? Bored.
Fences are only a small obstacle on my mission. I have warded off robbers and thieves, bears and mountain lions, electric cells and laser security. Fences are the smallest of my worries, or so I thought. I had no clue what was on the other side.
None of it matters. The fact that I am hurting the people I love, that I am hurting myself in the process- it doesn't matter. Who cares if I just killed a person or two to get what I want? It's illegal, so what? None of it matters. Heroine is all that matters.
Love. It drive you insane. It can get inside your brain. And cause pain.
Love. It is not fun. It makes you so mad, you want to run. And become a nun.
Seconds and hours and so many days.
Under the same moon, so many miles away.
Me with your shirt, trying to cease the hurt.
You with my letter, hoping things will get better.
Dear John...it read.
And with that, the tears start to shed.
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writing since 2010 · 16 entries · 16 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Dana showed up.
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16days written
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the words Dana reaches for
clickeyesroadlovematterschickencrossprobabilityglancedmomentstaredcameralenssavedbuttonelectric