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Literature Text
Dear Journal,
Watching him breathing next to me is like a lava lamp. Entrancing. I just can’t look away. He’s so beautiful with that film of dew and sweat on him, I want to kiss it off and lick my lips. To taste his sweetness again is it’s own golden euphoria.
He always calls himself pasty, but with the dying light of early morning illuminating his face he looks like some sort of holy god of the underworld. An angelic Hades who still struggles in English class (hopefully thinking of me).
He’s not a distraction like everyone says. He’s the love of my life at age 16. Almost 17.
I came into school with the wrong haircut and jeans that were baggy and unfashionable. But y’know what? When he tugged my silk shirt and handed me the paper-mache heart he stole from the art room I melted. Right into his James Dean-wannabe tight jeans and white shirt.
He still smells like illegal cigarettes and the flowers he put in my hair.
The morning lark? I pray it be the nightingale because my curfew is twelve o'clock.
Watching him breathing next to me is like a lava lamp. Entrancing. I just can’t look away. He’s so beautiful with that film of dew and sweat on him, I want to kiss it off and lick my lips. To taste his sweetness again is it’s own golden euphoria.
He always calls himself pasty, but with the dying light of early morning illuminating his face he looks like some sort of holy god of the underworld. An angelic Hades who still struggles in English class (hopefully thinking of me).
He’s not a distraction like everyone says. He’s the love of my life at age 16. Almost 17.
I came into school with the wrong haircut and jeans that were baggy and unfashionable. But y’know what? When he tugged my silk shirt and handed me the paper-mache heart he stole from the art room I melted. Right into his James Dean-wannabe tight jeans and white shirt.
He still smells like illegal cigarettes and the flowers he put in my hair.
The morning lark? I pray it be the nightingale because my curfew is twelve o'clock.
Literature
Scars
I didn't do it to hurt you
Or to make you mad at me
I didn't do it to show you
The emotional side of me
I did it only to remind me
Of things that shouldn't be
Of pain I've had
Of love I've lost
And what someday
Will be
The scars I hide
For none to see
Are worse than these my dear
And in my heart
The scars I hide
Are the only thing I fear
Literature
Quote
Why are you crying?
**I've lost something**
What did you lose?
**nothing becasue it never existed in the first place**
Than why are you sad?
**becasue nothing was everything I had**
Literature
Can't you hear it?
Can't you hear it?
You were dead before the day had even begun,
but you never could have known it.
C r a c k
Broken
in seven places, they told me afterwards.
---
There was a stale taste in the air
as we set out,
though at the time I wouldn't have taken any notice of it.
Those fresh leather seats seemed so…
inviting.
We both knew we were well above the limits:
all of them.
Too fast, too high and too intoxicated.
And somewhere along the way,
time stopped.
For a fleeting moment there was sile
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The kind of journal entry I always dreamed of writing when I found my high school true love...I'm a sap. Live with it. Find him for me.
© 2004 - 2024 AlmightyGammy
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hehe i love it!