goosing

goosing

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piano

"You're no good at this, you know," I whispered as she plucked away at the black and white keys slowly, playing out the tune of Mary Had a Little Lamb. A virtuoso, of all people, could not play the piano with grace, only the cello, flute, and so on. "True, but you're no good at anything, from tying your shoes to scoring well on tests. Bingbadaboom roasted."

I want to finish this for once. I want to finish this for once. I want to pick it up and put it in your hands and say, "Look what I did", like a child. But I'm not a child. I can't finish anything with pure determination and passion. Now I need incentive. And I hate this world for it.

"It's raining," she whispered, voice as soft as a feather to the skin except instead it tickled my ears like a vibration in the wind. "It's been so long, I almost forgot there's an ocean out there, somewhere. I hope we can see it one day. I hope it's not gone when we get there."

Overjoyed. I hadn't really known a word existed until now. But I've known the feeling; mostly when you smiled at me or when I laughed too hard at your terrible jokes. Yes, I've been overjoyed.

I seldom ever cry anymore, and sometimes it feels like a good thing, but other times it feels as though it's bottling up in my chest and slowly drowning my lungs. Then, like a faucet of a sink, it all comes raining down but I'm okay. I can breathe.

Every thing I've ever built was torn down by someone who was the ghost of their childhood. And instead of building it stronger, it seemed I became so weak that whispers and a soft breeze would knock me back. Then I learned to stop building castles under moonlight, and while I sacrificed seeing the stars, I kept company with cotton white clouds as I built mountains that touched heaven.

timid

I've never heard your voice tremble nervously, and I've never seen you shiver in the cold. But I've felt your timid fingers on my skin, and you don't think I'm real, or so they told.

A prisoner probably lives a better life than I, for freedom has gotten me nowhere, but to waste years indulging my dreams.

writing since 2013 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means marcie showed up.

3longest streak

8days written

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on this day 13 years ago

marcie wrote about overjoyed
“Overjoyed. I hadn't really known a word existed until now. But I've known the feeling; mostly when you smiled at me or when I laughed too hard at your terrible jokes. Yes, I've been overjoyed.”

the words marcie reaches for

finishvoiceskinbuiltinsteadbuildingsoftwhiteslowlyrainingoverjoyednowwhisperedhopechildprisoner