usedbutterfly
I don't like it when people call others foreign. I know it's not a "bad" word, necessarily, but it seems cruel to me, somehow. Objects are foreign. Concepts are foreign. People are not. Just a little different.
She ran her tongue over her lips, the feel of them rough and cracked beneath it weirdly comforting.
He wasn't sure what to think when his boyfriend showed him the glowing jewel in his ear. Beaming, he demanded, "What d'you think!?"
"It's, uh..." he was careful in choosing his next words. "It's something." He knew he hadn't said the right thing when he watched the face before him fall.
If these walls could talk, they'd tell you all my secrets. Oh, how humiliating that would be. Do you know what these walls have seen? I would die of my shame. No, but these walls can't talk.
He looked out over the horizon, the sand squishing between his toes as he moved closer to the crashing waves. Stopping just short of the water, he squinted against the setting sun, and allowed the scent of the ocean to waft over him, intoxicating him and assuring him he was finally home.
With no personality of her own, she had no choice but to soak up the aspects of those around her. Other people's words dripped from her tongue when she opened her mouth, their thoughts finding a new platform within her.