easrock
All people do is talk, talk, talk, using empty words. They never do. Actions are nonexistent. All people do is talk. But their words, they lack the very necessary conviction to get things done.
I suppose I had it in my mind that as your sister I deserved more time with you than I got. Really, though, it's just that you deserved more years than you had. In the end, it doesn't matter what I thought you deserved, because it's been seven months and you're still gone.
We told our parents that I was tutoring him. That's how it all started. With tutoring. What we didn't tell our parents was what subject I was supposed to be tutoring him in.
Neither of us were taking anatomy classes.
I'll never forget the first time I realized how unnecessarily cruel people could be. It was middle school. The spring dance was in a few weeks, and all I wanted was for my crush to ask me. When he finally did, I was thrilled. I called it my first date.
He and his friends called it their best prank.
I would be delighted if there were some way on this website to write words from past days. There are days when one word is not enough. Similarly, though, there are days where one word is one too many.
Why is it that whenever I see, hear, read, etc. "Well I would be delighted!" that it sounds incredibly sarcastic? Must say a lot about the people who I often find "delighted to see me".
All that was left was his old sweatshirt that smelled like her, and a single rose, withered and pressed between the pages of the last book they read together.
I find it ironic that the word of the day is "motivated" when that is exactly what I am not feeling today. Motivation is something I've been lacking quite a bit lately. I'm thinking that I'm going to have to get motivated really fast, really soon, though. With all that I have to get done next week, I'm gonna need a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of motivation.
Or maybe just a miracle.
Perhaps it was the drugs, or perhaps it was just because she seemed to feel that she was often in a world all her own that none could touch, but her senses seemed unusually heightened this starry night. Smells were very distinct, some undeniably pleasant, some unfamiliar. Sounds were smooth and melodious, and the sweet music surrounding her rang easily in her ears. Her tastebuds danced, champagne leaving sparks on her tongue. Everything she saw was sharp and clear as if seen through the eyes of a child, for the first time. Her skin prickled, sensitive to the heat of the bonfire and the dewy chill of the dawn. It seemed that on that not-so-special night, everything she touched might turn to gold.