palomasacovertiz
the mass was advancing at an alarming rate, dragging carla with them. the buyers in black friday could be a formidable force. carla didn't know why she'd agreed to go out with her mother that year, but she knew she was regretting it already.
improv, that is the correct word to describe what im doing for this essay. im improvising out of the clouds, and the steam and the snow outside. im improvising out the molecules of caffeine and sugar in my redbull. im improvising out of my passion and at the same hatred hate of psychology and art. i should be paid for this.
i stamped the envelope of the letter. i stamped? or pasted the stamp? anyways, before i actually put the letter in it, i decide to re-read it. was i really going to send that? i crumble it and throw it over my shoulder. they are wasted words on you.
i woke up when i heard the knock on the wall. it was also on the ceiling, on the floor, on the door. the knock was everywhere. inside my head, by my pillow, it knocked to the rhythm of my heart. it made me feel so hollow inside.
well, this is convenient. the essay of gift giving and reciprocity i am currently working on was due today at 5 pm, oh, excuse me, yesterday at 5pm. it is now 12:09am. and im still working on this. another essay due tomorow, and two exams tomorrow too. yay college.
my interest in her was hard to conceal. just looking at her typing quickly in her laptop, her long hair flowing down her back like a cascade of raver feathers. now and then she would turn around and smile at me briefly, before burying her nose again in her essay. i lived for those smiles. i was glad that she could not see my eyes while she faced her computer. they would have read things i was not ready to face.
Help. I need somebody, help. I guess anybody would help. But no, really, I need some one to help. Was I quoting the Beatles just now? Or was I just asking someone to catch me if I trip down the stairs?
We thought that once we were not together anymore we would not have to be apart. But that is not how things work, isn't it? Sometimes one cannot stay close to a person without loosing them. Sometimes its better for the separation to be complete. I miss you.
The texture of his skin was a most curious experience to touch. It was soft and smooth, cold and slippery, yet it was neither wet nor was it slimy. It was just... flowy. I loved touching his skin. Something about its glowing green essence filled me with joy.
As I laid on my side, the water splashing softly against my bruised legs, I realized I was not feeling any pain. It was as if I was numb all over. The sky laid celeste above me, the breeze caressed my sandy skin. I knew that for sure I was bruised and battered and burned. But pain I could not feel.
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