imchele
Concern builds as deadlines loom.
If I had wings I wouldn't have to deal with my failure to limp properly because of my awkwardly heightened proprioception that makes even regular walking a bit awkward.
Her beauty is violent - stealing my breath and knocking me off my feet.
If I had a megaphone to tell the world just one thing, I would tell them the truest sentence I know: Life is an extremely different proposition when you're going through some shit without a best friend in the world.
As a lesbian, my favorite kind of trophy is a really hott straight girl.
My own personal heaven exists as having music filling one ear and the sounds of breaking sticks and moving rocks filling the other ear as I run through my desolate trails feeling completely at one with nature and the universe.
Our flirtations were growing and still I remain too awkward to stare at anything other than your cigarette while you try to initiate your unreasonably long bouts of eye contact.
I thought of love as a virus for my next novel but didn't consider love as a plague or turning into one. But it's almost fitting.
I had been alone for awhile, but this was the last straw; loneliness has started to hurt.
Does death change things? Is it only a death causing me to still see her walking everywhere down the street, nearly causing traffic accidents as I crane my neck just to make sure it really isn't her.
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