naimavogt
It seemed to be burning eternally, itching away at her very soul. It was the worst of pains, caused by the best of emotions. But when it came tumbling down, and when chaos ensued, from the very organ that had spurred such ecstasy was born the most painful fountain of heartache tears.
However, how ever did we get here? However just basically insinuates a shitload of complexities and turning points and some almosts as well. However is the word we use in essays to present the opposing point, the people who stand against us.
Figure it out, the figures of a woman, the figures of the world. Figures are numbers, and figures are standards, but is my figure up to your standards? Figuring out what needs to be figured out without using numbers and figures figures out to be much harder to figure out then I ever thought it would be. That figures...
Wander through the woods with me, as I would like to do with you, as we used to do when we were both younger, and you were still alive. I wander instead through your mind, which is a forest of its own, and through the memories we have together, a clearing in the middle of the thick woods that define who you are.
I knew a girl who wore a thousand scarves to hide her bruises. Bruises that could never heal, wounds that would never close. But scarves aren't enough to hide the pain that rests below the skin and inside your heart.
Statement. I don't even know what to write. Ironically enough, because writing is making a statement. Here it goes. Art is a statement. A statement can be art. In most ways. When anything gives a statement, yells a voice, tells a story, it becomes art. I don't care if it's written on paper, on a school wall, or on the inside of your lover's heart.
I've always wondered about the 7 wonders of the world, about the essence of life, and the meaning of love. I've always wondered about the bees in the sky, and the people on the ground. I've always wondered about what my life would be like in the skin of someone else, under the eyes of a stranger. I've always wondered about everything I could be, if I was only given the chance.
I was excited to be. Bees, just like in those pop songs that buzz around the radio, like annoying insects that won't get out of your car. They won't get our of your head; that bee in particular, it just can't be, that bee is still there, still buzzing, pleading you to let it out. But you're too scared to touch it. Bees sting, you know? So does love.
I'm sinking in a sea of Almosts, and they're all gathering around you. Almosts are the walls that separate us and impede our path towards one another. They block what I want to say, and what I want to feel; and instead of saying, instead of feeling, I almost speak. I almost feel. I almost love. I almost took a step towards you today; but I paused and thought about the future it implied, and my desires remained an Almost, and I sat there wishing, wanting, wishing that instead of an Almost, it was an Absolutely Definitely, Yes.