yojimbo
I don't know why, I just am. She's beautiful, really. I know of no one else with such a lovely smile as hers. And those eyes, they speak wonders. I shouldn't feel this way though. I really shouldn't. She barely knows how I feel. Yeah, she's aware I've noticed her. I'm even pretty sure she can feel my stare from across the room. I just-- I don't know how to necessarily approach this. Everytime I try to talk to her, my words slur together in this cacophony of how nervous I really am. Whenever I stand next to her, I can almost hear my knees rattling together in my irrational fear of making a mistake. Even trying to recount my moments engaging her in conversation, I feel my heart hammer against my chest. There's the point where it's just a crush, and then there's where I've gone. I've crossed the line. My next decision, my next move, my next thought. These are all to be of great concern.
Must you worry? I feel fine. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm not hurting anyone, I'm not even hurting myself. This truly isn't any of your concern.
It was hot. The spot where his palm made contact with my cheek. I don't know why he does it, but he won't stop. I tell myself everyday that I love him and he loves me, but is it really love?
The cut went further than I thought. I wasn't aware that as I was attending to my burns, I was slowly bleeding out. Her words were sharp, and they were hot. At this moment, I knew. I knew I cared for her, even through the mutilation of myself, and that was more severe than the wounds she inflicted upon me.
What am I here for? Why do I try? For what reason is there that I continue? Am I actually doing something important? Do I have a purpose?
Back and forth, back and forth. He goes at the piece back and forth, back and forth. He sees, he saws.
I want to just spill, to tell you everything, but I doubt that I could. It may take too much of me, to tell you the truth.
The cold hard steel, only to be beat repeatedly. Swing after swing after swing after swing after swing after swing after…