thebrokenmirror
Claim my heart
If you're brave enough to try
If you're fully prepared to laugh with me
And wipe away my tears should I start to cry
Claim my heart
If you're man enough to care
If you're strong enough to love me
Then I can promise I'll always be there
Claim my heart
I dare you to try
'Cause I've seen what you do
And I see through your lies
Claim my heart
But there's one thing you should know
You can have all of my love
But you can't touch my soul
Love is a science. It's a give and take, trial and error. We form theories, ideas, make predictions...But in the end we sort of know what will happen. Art is also a science in some ways. You try and you try again until you get the desired result. And sometimes you try just to see what will happen.
The smoke curled away from her chapped lips in a thick cloud of memory. At that moment she was much older than 16. She felt as though time itself was angry with her, and as punishment there she was: 72 in the body of a teenager, struggling to breathe and oh so tired. She wanted nothing more than to sleep...As if sleep would fix her problems. She would wake up in an hour and everything would still be there. All the problems, all the sickness, all the suffering.
Huh...Not a good topic for fiction. Fine, real life accounts then.
I've always been camera shy...I'm just too self conscious for photos. It's always been annoying at family gatherings, seeing as I have relatives who want to take like, six pictures of me at the same time...Whenever someone has a birthday and my grandfather is there to celebrate he has us blow out the candles once and takes a picture with one camera.
And then he re-lights them and the process repeats with another camera.
And then again.
And again.
We light the candles four times and spend the next 10 minutes peeling wax off of the cake.
Passionate.
Love comes to mind but so does work...My work is in writing, and that is like love to me. Some people never find something that they are truly passionate about. I feel sorry for those people...It seems like unless you can find something you really love in life, you haven't ever really lived at all.
Passion is a funny thing actually...When it comes to love, it means you've passed the point of romantic evenings and you've begun to taste lust. I wonder if passion is lust in disguise...We're much more accepting of the word passion, are we not? Lust is associated with sin, but when you think of passion, does your mind not wander to sex?
"Passionate", perhaps the newest costume for "Lustful".
A little thing, just a faun. It stared up at me, over the barrel of my metal monster, as though it didn't know what death was or just how it close it was to the wrong end of a bullet. I couldn't shoot it. I had no reason to...I mean, it wasn't good for meat or nuffin'...But it's mother and father had to be 'round here somewhere. Although, sitting alone in the woods with a faun staring down your rifle's barrel you just start to question whether or not you have the guts to go shoot its only chance of survival in this cold world.
A single piece of straw hung from the corner of her mouth. She cocked her head to the side and shielded her eyes from the blazing mid-day sun.
"I'd give 'er three days 'till she pours."
Far on the horizon there were storm clouds, although there was no way she could have seen them. The man looked at her curiously.
"And how do you know for sure?"
"I can smell it."
"You can smell the rain? Oh and I suppose you can hear the approaching nuclear war predicted for 2099 too?"
"Well sure. I can turn on the news and there it'll be. Every time a politician opens his mouth, I hear the approach of disaster."
Daily chores was never one of my favorite activities. Cleaning never caught my interest in any ways. It must be done though, according to the parents all over the world. Sometimes I wonder what teen actually wants to do their chores. Not me! That's for sure!
A feeling of hate rose up in his throat. He was the older brother, shouldn't he be the one doing whatever he wanted? No, no. Apparently he should be the one setting the example. Oh yes, setting the example for the kid who hated him oh so dearly. He spat at the ground and mumbled about "no-good brothers" and "no-good parents with their no-good theories about no-good life."
It's odd how I could be described that day as maroon. Not quite angry, no. Not angry enough to be blazing red or crimson. But certainly not reserved enough to be brown. Oh heavens no, brown would have been far too dull today. Today I was in uncanny resemblance to that color maroon. Irritated, misunderstood, certainly not pleasing to the eye and constantly bringing up memories of a high school I hated to myself or anyone else who would listen, or at least pretend to.
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writing since 2011 · 11 entries · 10 days shown up
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