nytestalker
I set a few more berry-covered branches on the table, and mom thanked me with a quick pat to the cheek. Helping her make our christmas wreath was the highlight of my holiday.
She looked at me and then back down at the paper.
"You used the wrong word here," She said "It should be 'fairy'."
I looked at the paper and realized that she was right when 'ferry' stood out in the bright yellow highlighter she marked it with.
Damn this fucking head injury.
Dialating. Expanding. Dialating again. I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean, but I can only imagine that this womans eyes see something in me that she doesn't often see.
Being a disciple of christ was never my plan in life, though my parents had other ideas about that. It's not like I don't believe, I do. But giving my life over to someone or something I'm not even sure truly exists? That's not for me.
Looking into the glass, I couldn't help but think about how it would feel to touch the contents. What would it feel like? I could only imagine, fear winning out over curiosity.
Nobody said it was easy. Yeah, well, no one ever said it would be so hard. Being born into a family of hunters was easy. Becoming one of them? That was the hard part. I stand, coming face to face with the savage beast in front of me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was cute. The gaping hole in my shoulder told me other wise.
It's true romance is dead, isn't it? When you take into consideration the social justice on the topic of chivalry, it makes it pretty obvious. It doesn't matter if it's holding open a door or picking up a check, no good deed goes unpunished.
Sons, and daughters too, but mostly sons, are difficult for mothers to raise. How are they supposed to know anything about growing up and going through puberty? Wet dreams? It has a completely different definition when it comes to the female anatomy.
Sundried tomatoes, not something that I would personally put in an omlette, but this guy was different. Special. Particular. He pulled his socks to exactly half way up his calf and his books always sat no more than two inches away from the left side corner of his desk. If he wanted sundried tomatoes in his omlette, I wouldn't say anything about it.
Sometimes I think about my life, my actions, and I wonder if everything I've done, everything I will ever do, will be worthwhile. It's a hard thing to figure, I suppose. Nothing will ever seem like enough, but then again, sometimes thing's seem like too much. But how could that be?
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