libbylou1992
Discontent stems from...well, I don't know quite know exactly. Wanting more? but that sounds too simple to be true. Maybe it's not that you want more but that what you have isn't enough. Something's missing. But is that the same thing as wanting more?
Everything made up of cells is living. Except for prisons. I've never been inside a living prison. Prisons might be the antithesis of life actually. No freedom. trapped inside a room with an orange uniform. Waiting for life.
Wonder: awe, something mysterious, powerful, and beyond your comprehension is there in front of our eyes and it's so glorious that all you can do is stand there with your mouth open and stare without making any noise.
Sometimes, when we're sitting and talking about everything and nothing on a sunny afternoon, the light hits your eyes at the instant you smile. In that moment, you are summertime to me. You are the feeling I get when I wake up and hear birds singing, when I look up at the sky and think of all the possibilities inherent in a single day. Contentment, peace, and a rush of joy.
Station, a place of waiting, a place of purpose, people move from station to station in life. Why does it seem like I'm always waiting for something, but I always have something to do while I'm waiting? Once it's done, I move to the next thing, but still waiting. I'm restless.
Corner, around it is out of sight, invisible, inside it is trapped, alone, out of it is free, running, there are 4 of them in a room, most rooms, some have more if they are irregularly shaped, corner
Forgetting: what I do when I wake up in the morning, look around me, see the sunlight, and smile because the world is bright and happy.
The picket fence that surrounded my house as a child was painted white, a spotless barrier separating my yard from the universe. The day I crossed it to play in my neighbor's yard was the day my mother told me I was a grown up girl.
Dear Someone, Some days, when I'm driving in the car listening to the radio, I think of you when that one song comes on. At first, I think "Oh, I love you." Then I think, "Screw you for not loving me." And finally, I think "But I still love you." That won't ever change. And this is my cheesy love letter.
Ahh, remember. What does it mean, to remember? Remembering is the picture on my wall with two smiles, yours and mine. Remembering is the sound of your voice over the phone that brings that same smile in the picture to my face.
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writing since 2011 · 28 entries · 28 days shown up
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