lilycandell23

lilycandell23

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stay

"Stay," she whispered, tugging at the hem of his sleeve. "Stay," the trees breathed, swaying in their soup of watery gray sky. "Stay," the flowers murmured, nodding together among the railroad tracks, the heaps of vines and splintered wood that rotted among the tall weedy grass. "Stay." The lines ran down the underside of her arm and joined to create a set of tracks, an empty railroad with no train. She would follow it until her feet grew sore and her eyes ran wet with dew, but still she walked.

A fear of failing dragged him down, pulling on his heartstrings like a drowning whale, thrashing and waving in the tides, a part of him was being washed up on shore and he could feel the sunlight beaming down, slowly burning his skin away, slowly turning him to bones. Soon he would be nothing but a cage of ivory white bars, bleached pale in the sun.

She graced the halls with her presence. Everything about her was poised, considered, calculated. A single glance from her sent worlds traveling down your spine. A single word from her was enough to keep you awake all night. We were all madly in love with her, I'm sure, though I can't quite remember now--it's hard to remember a girl who moved like the air itself, who kept her true self an enigma.

He laughed at her softly, a sound like a knife in the darkness. "Are you always this way?" His words cut her, they seemed warm on the surface but she could feel the coldness underneath them like ice. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, shifted her knee ever so slightly away from his. She suddenly had the impression that she was a single warm body pressed between two glaciers, the blankets were floating above her body, just barely pressing down, she suddenly wanted to become weightless and quiet and escape this unfeeling warmth. /Are you always this way?/ Of course she was, of course. Like there was something wrong with her. /Are you?/

worn

She fingered the torn, worn clothing, the puckered holes that dotted the black fabric, pieces of thread twisting out from the fraying edges and tangling with one another. (tying the holes together)

(Crap, I can never remember if this word is the foot doctor, the skin doctor, or the children's doctor so I wrote this instead) Skin is supposed to be perfect. They had those pictures of the makeup models, all blown up so you could see every detail of their perfection, their colorful eyeshadow and shiny lips, and most of all their skin painted so thick it almost looked plastic. Why do we have these crazy standards? If we didn't have all these standards maybe normal people wouldn't have to wear makeup to be considered beautiful.

"Don't do this to me." She was on her knees, she was chasing him out the door. "Please, please..." Sobbing interspersed with hiccups, almost like laughter, funny how that is, she didn't know if she was laughing or crying anymore, she could've been going insane. It all seemed the same just then, when her world was falling apart. Felt like the windows should've shattered, the shutters blown open and the walls crumbled down, the vines should've wormed their way in like snakes, the floor and ceiling reduced to a skeleton, the entire structure should've aged a hundred years in that single moment. When the door slammed she pressed her cheek to the floor and felt the smoothness of the wood, thought maybe she could feel it decaying already, she only wanted to rot away with the floor and feel the grasses pushing up through her skin, feel the earth taking her back.

Progress always happens in spirals. Don't give up hope when it looks like you're turning back, when it looks like the things you set your heart on have disappeared. They will return. Everything is up and down, back and forth, and it's all carrying you along a road toward the end and the beginning of the world. Don't give up on the road.

I've always considered myself a sentimental person. But am I really that way? Sometimes I wonder if I'm just holding on to the past because I think I should, and not because I actually have any true emotion remaining. My ideas about how I should feel and how I do feel often get muddled up, until I can't even tell the difference anymore and just let go of it all and become numb.

piano

The final notes of the piano faded away into the distance. Opening her eyes, she took her fingers off of the keys and looked around, as if noticing the world around her for the first time. Every time she lifted the dusty wooden keyboard cover and began to play, she returned to the world of the "living" as if she had just been born.

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writing since 2012 · 84 entries · 77 days shown up

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on this day 14 years ago

LILYhibiku wrote about somebody
“Who is somebody? I want somebody to find me, somebody to see me, somebody to hear me. We spend so much of our lives searching for somebody, only to discover that we never really needed them after all…”

the words LILYhibiku reaches for

eyeswordsemotionsmindremembermomentslowlyfaceheartnowpromiselivenightinsideafraidchange