lauragill
was a place i could call my home. temporarily i lived, thrived, and breathed eastern. The cold winter days, and the bitter nights. out by the gazebo, or walking home from class. Up high in my warm dorm room i would feel comfort in myself and my abilities
how can we prove love to anything anyone, to ourselves? one day we feel a passion drive, life telling us one thing is eternal love. and the next we feel the same for someone completely different. nothing is eternal. true love doesnt exist. love is a series of decisions.
The features on his face were sullen and dark. His true emotions could be masked by his dramatic nose, his sunken eyes, and his hollow cheeks. His nose hung over his mouth like a hook. His lips shriveled and dry the color of a dead fish,
do not stray from what is expected of you. rules are implemented specifically so that you live a normal and safe life. anything that deviates is met with severe consequences. DO WHAT YOU LOVE FUCK THE REST!
one time my friend and i attempted taking a printing class in college. The professor showed us examples of what some students had made and we were in awe. The beautiful pieces of work we had been shown portrayed examples of the best usage of color and creative images. We had no clue how they were made, and upon explanation we were overwhelmed. We had stepped in thinking we were going to create masterpieces but soon realized we were the minority. We left and ended up dropping the class because we were scared.
As she swishes the plastic hood over her head, she knows it will hardly prevent drops of rain from slapping her cheeks. It was the type of rain that wouldnt allow you to see two feet in front of your face. She leaves her job knowing she has three bus stops ahead of ehr and a stubborn apartment door that takes forever to unlock. All the while in the pouring rain she can't help but think how she forgot to vacuum the carpet in the dining area, she fears unemployment.
crusted and stiff, the sponge seeks the comfort of water. loosely being able to seep in all that it has to offer. expanding
i offer you my money. i offer you my cigarettes. but my money comes from my parents and i am a fool without aggression or work ethic. you are intelligent, no one can offer you enough. you will not accept anything from them.
the red thread interwoven in the dark denim, across her chest on a front pocket. The apple embroidered to her jumper with shiny green plastic buttons.
i wondered what your lips would taste like, what your skin would feel like under your checkered button down. I was curious, but curiosity doesn't ensue that i was passionate, or in love. i just wanted to know what it was like.
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writing since 2010 · 28 entries · 27 days shown up
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