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Literature Text
Standing in the rain,
With my face to the clouds,
I like to picture you here,
Right beside me.
Everytime we exchange those words,
I mean them more then you.
I stand here alone,
And she has what I want.
She has you.
Sitting the ground,
My eyes are damp,
And my heart wants to feel whole.
I imagine you here.
As I walk home,
It takes every inch of me
To not run to you.
I feel alone,
But I want to be whole.
Pacing on the cement
I know that now,
You have her.
And when I say those words,
I mean them then you could ever dream.
And I stand here thinking,
Of could be.
The sun won’t melt
This cold I feel.
I can’t go home,
I feel alone.
She has you,
But I need you.
I love you.
Standing in the rain
With my face to the clouds,
Their silent tears fall around us,
But we cant hear the pain
And we feel so alone.
I was told to tell the truth,
And I never lie,
When I say that I need you,
When I whisper I love you.
But you weren’t there,
You were with her.
With my face to the clouds,
I like to picture you here,
Right beside me.
Everytime we exchange those words,
I mean them more then you.
I stand here alone,
And she has what I want.
She has you.
Sitting the ground,
My eyes are damp,
And my heart wants to feel whole.
I imagine you here.
As I walk home,
It takes every inch of me
To not run to you.
I feel alone,
But I want to be whole.
Pacing on the cement
I know that now,
You have her.
And when I say those words,
I mean them then you could ever dream.
And I stand here thinking,
Of could be.
The sun won’t melt
This cold I feel.
I can’t go home,
I feel alone.
She has you,
But I need you.
I love you.
Standing in the rain
With my face to the clouds,
Their silent tears fall around us,
But we cant hear the pain
And we feel so alone.
I was told to tell the truth,
And I never lie,
When I say that I need you,
When I whisper I love you.
But you weren’t there,
You were with her.
Literature
Master of Ravens
Master of Ravens
1
My little brother is nine years old the first time I decide to kill him.
During the night, snow fell over the jagged wreckage of our land. In the morning I realize he will follow me outside if I call to him. Like an awkward-limbed colt he'll stumble through the snowdrifts, and I can leave him to the ice and wind in the shadow of a three-walled building. No one will see me. Our father will think he has gotten lost on his own. I too will cry when they find his body. When the mourning is done, however, I will be my father's true and only son. 'Cam,' he will call to me, and I'll kneel down before him.
My father. Master of
Literature
Measured in Years
Eliza is six and theres something unusual about the morning. The day seems to have forgotten to wake up. Its black outside the windows except the silver pools the streetlights leave on the pavement. She can hear a faint, familiar noise: her parents alarm, an ongoing stacatto rhythm that usually ends just after it begins. She goes downstairs in feeted pajamas, one warm thing in the dark house, one pink smudge in the somber white living room with its vaulted ceiling. She sees her mother sitting on the sofa in her nightgown, part of the pale triangles that lace the shadowed room.
Eliza stands in the center of the carpet and he
Literature
emotions with longer names
"Why are you holding a camera?" Her eyes flickered to look at his. She possessed no poker face—her discomfort made him smile, even now.
"I don't know," replied a disembodied voice. The sound of his words made his heart beat faster, made the memories come rushing back in some horrific nightmarish image of a carnival ride.
She displayed her white teeth to him in an awkward smile, the flashing red light reflected in her eyes. They weren't looking at the camera—they were looking at him.
"Talk to me," he said, loving to film the shape of her face in all that silence but knowing her awkward quirks.
"I don't know what to say." Her voice was quie
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say you love me.
but i was wrong.
but i was wrong.
© 2008 - 2024 xo-vintage-ox
Comments1
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I love the way you wrote this.