The truth is, everybody holds more sanity than I do

(It's December...)

I know

(What are you doing? Why are you still here)

You know.

(... you are nothing, nothing, nothing swaying in the wind)

And you'd be nothing, if it weren't for me.

(Yes. But you'd be lower than nothing if it weren't for me.
You'd be dead.
You'd have given up years ago
and drunken yourself sick
and puked yourself dead
and burned yourself down.
I'm far from your sanity,
but I hold more of it than you.)

Oh, leave me alone.

(Gladly)

...
...
...
Where are you?

(Everybody leaves.)

7 lines

I am a crappy
crappy
crappy
friend.
Despite everything.
Fuck.
FUCK.

Turning points

I'm writing this because it feels like a turning point in my life.

I've realized a certain amount of things:
a) It's all about choosing the right people
b) Things don't change unless you make them change, even with a clean slate
c) Being lonely doesn't suck half as much as you think it would. At least, compared to being unhappy.

And specifically?
a) I'm still not over him. Fffml. Part of me hopes that he still likes me and will ask me out. It's been years. I broke it off. He's too old for me. His brother liked me. He liked her. I hardly ever see him. FUCK ME.
b) I met a guy. Actually, I met him years ago... so, I remet a guy. A funny, sweet, nice guy. With a great bod. I'm circling him, flirting with him and feeling all the exhileration. What's holding me back? Look at a. I keep comparing and nothing can compare.
c) Nobody likes her as much as I thought they did. I always told myself that one day, they'd get sick of her ways... guess that hapenned long ago.
d) Why did I fall behind, why was I left out? I didn't play the game. She said it was because I confronted. True. But mostly it was because I didn't play the game. I hate playing games. I'm alright with being left behind.
e) We're all so sick of each other. But none of us has the courage to leave. Ha.
f) The reason why sec 4 was so damn good was because nobody played the game. Huh. What the fuck do you know.
g) Peggy was right. Things fuck up when you do them out of fear, out of insecurity, etc. Bad emotions should never drive you. Don't let the ugly parts take over.
h) Everybody has ugly parts. Everybody has weak parts. It's a matter of whether or not you let them take over.

Things that have changed:
a) I'm okay with being on the outside. I'm not okay with being weak. Yay. One day, I hope I don't have to choose.
b) I'm still weak. I'm still afraid. It's still hard. But it's okay, because I'm human and those things will never change.
c) There's a new guy on the horizon. I'm scared shitless.
d) I'm patching things up with her. Things will never be the way they were... and I'm glad.
e) I might be enterring a new, older crowd. Weirdly enough, my brother's crowd. Lmao.
f) I don't care as much as I used to. Whether it be about school, other people's opinion, etc. Huh. Can't tell if this is good or bad.
g) I'm getting mighty fucking pissed at my parents lately. Not a good thing, but at least I'm letting my feelings out instead of keeping the locked in.

It's halfway through sec 5. I'm not as eager as I was to get out. I figure I'll just cruise along for the ride and when I'm gone, I'm gone.

No regrets.

Help Me

Help me.
Help me, things aren't going well.
I'm not happy anymore. I'm not laughing anymore.
Help me, I lost everything I thought I had. I lost my best friend. I lost my other friends. I lost my ability to trust and my willingness to give.
I lost that feeling of togetherness. Of being able to go through life knowing that somebody has your back, and that somebody alwas has a shoulder or an ear.
And the worst part is: I don't even know how.
Help me, things are going wrong (again).
I thought things were getting better. I thought I was getting better. I thought I could finally be happier, could finally trust someone.
I can't.
Help me, I don't know what to do.
I'm stuck in life.
I have nobody.
I don't know what to do. I odn't know if I should leave or stay. It feels as though I have a decision to make and I have no idea what to do; there are no solutions.
The worst part is is that it's my second time.
Help me, I'm falling apart for the millionth time and I'm so afraid to hope for a time when I do have somebody again. Because I know I'll lose it.
Oh god, help me. Help me because I give up.

Greatness is thrust upon you

You know what I've realized?
Nobody is born great.
Nobody is born great and nobody starts off great.
I'm not going to sit on my ass any longer and wait for something I do to be spectacular.
No, i'm gonna go out there and ee what I can do, what I can accomplish and
it might not be much...
but I'm trying.
I'm learning.
And I'm living.
Cheers.

So, this is good-bye

I'm leaving.
I won't make a grand exit, but I'm leaving.
I won't sit with you guys at lunch as much anymore.
I'll learn how to talk to other people.
I'm going to give in to my impulses
and say what I want
and do what I want
and fuck everybody else.
I'm sick of holding myself in because I'm afraid of what they'll think.
I'm sick of being somebody other than myself.
I'm sick of hurting. Hurting bad because the person, the people, I trust went behind my back. Like she said, you're supposed to trust your friends.
I don't.
If you're reading this, then you know.
If you're reading this, you know what to expect.
Fuck this. It's my last year of high school and I'm not, I repeat, NOT going to spend it regretting the things I haven't done.
I've learned the hard way that being devoted, being loyal to your friends doesn't guarantee you anything
but a fistful of nothing.
So I'm leaving. I'm not running. I'm escaping.
I don't know how. I don't know what to expect. I'm not sure it's even for the better. But, at least I'll be doing something. Something other than breathe uneasy and start panicking whenever I think somebody's lying straight to my fucking face.
So, this is good-bye.

Shout-out to Sonya
Fucking best girl there is out there.
To my oldest friend, the one who knows my secrets... some. And doesn't look at them as defects. Stealing, throwing up, lying, cheating, pyromania, anarchy... there's is freedom in doing whatever the hell you want. To Sonya, the only one I know who has actually achieved it.

...

If you're reading this, tell me you still care.
If you're reading this, tell me I'm not alone.
If you're still here and you haven't left, tell me why you did before.
I don't know if I can look at you
I don't know if I can breathe
All I know are the pretty lies
in your pretty pretty eyes.
We were on the outside looking in
now you're in the inside, and I'm looking out
and you've forgotten everything you ever felt,
everything you ever said.
This saddest part is this isn't new.
The first time you apologized, closed your eyes and said
don't worry it won't happen again.
This second time, you apologize, look away
and uttered no promises, just in case.

A year from now, we'll be scattered in the winds,
like ashes at sea.
I'll have no regrets, but I do hope that you do.

A certain type of heartbreak//

I can't breathe.
I can't I can't I can't breathe.
I can't talk to you like I used to, I can't look at you the way I did, I can't trust the words that flow so easily out of your mouth because I know they're lies.
I can't ask you what's wrong, because you'll say nothing, and I'll laugh because clearly, something is.
I can't love you without hating you because you're so clearly hurting me and you know it so well.
I can't remember all those late nights of promises, late nights of comfort, late nights of love and trust and loyalty and all that is friendship.
I can't look at you without hoping that one day, everything will be alright again and that kills me because something tells me it'll never be alright again.
I can't turn my back without thinking, without worrying that I'll feel a slice of blade and it'll be your hand holding it.
I can't breathe.
I love you I do I love you I do I love you
I do.
But I can't do this anymore.

Why everything starts with because

Because it’s like a lemon lollipop at the back of your mouth,
Sweet and tart and bound to give you a tongue rash
Because words have replaced sleep and
it’s the only place that pain and solace intertwine.
Because there’s not enough hurt to go around so we share it
and we steal it and we covet it in the night.
Why because? Because it forever needs justifying and it’s not enough to simply
lay down the words with no explanation.
Because we’re sick of words with no explanation
So simply because.

Words Don't Matter

Because when you write, it’s more beautiful than all the scraped knees in the world
because nobody’s going to kiss it better.
Because when you write, it’s like splattered brains on a bathroom wall and the blood is simply
staining every corner of my life. There’s not enough bleach.
Because when you write, it’s like seeing you wear your clothes inside out and
fingering the seams of your shirt, running my fingertips down the stitches.
Because when you write, it’s deeper then all the paper cuts that I sustained in a lifetime and all the
broken words that I bit back.
Because when you write, you have no regrets which means I have no regrets which simply means
we were never a mistake.
Because when you write, I can drown in fiction just a little longer.
Because when you write, I feel sane.

Splattered Thoughts

Because it’s quiet.
Because I need to fill the emptiness with the click-clack of my keyboard and with my useless, meaningless and cheap thoughts.
Here, I’ll give them to you for free.
When the tough fall in love, there’s no stopping them.
When you wish upon a star, you’re just another fool.
When you love as hard and as long as you can, it doesn’t matter because the only thing that does is if he loves you back.
When you give up and you take that one last dying breath before completely collapsing, nobody’s going to drag you up and breathe life into those tender little lungs of yours.
Because when you love vertical stripes instead of horizontal stripes, you’re doomed for disappointment.
Because when you cut up your heart in little pieces and feed them to him one by one, he’s gotta choke sometime (there’s just too much and he’s just not hungry, can’t you see?)
Because when you need, you lose yourself to it.
Don’t you rather want? Want is a choice, or so we tell ourselves.
Because I don’t have any left in me to give, not pieces of heart nor vertical stripes nor the strength to drag you up and give you that one breath.
Because when you’re stretches thin and nobody’s giving in return, you turn so cold that nothing and no one matters (being needed, I rather be wanted)
I love you.
I just can’t do this anymore.

2-Minute Poetry

Skin on skin
Bone on bone
Silky and soft,
Smooth and hard.
Deep blue eyes penetrate my soul.
You always told me that
the world would end in fire.

Metal on concrete,
Glass on diamonds.
Hard, sharp, smooth and rough.
It pierces skin, pierces flesh
and bleeds.
I told you, didn't I?
It'll end in ice.

...

Black hair black jeans black shirt black belt black makeup black black blackblackblack
Ebony eyes
Silver details
(it's all in the details)

You look at me, up and down,
"Doesn't all that color overwhelm you?"
Said disdainfully/with a sneer.
No, I sigh, no it doesn't.

(But you do.
Sometimes, I think that's your raison d'etre
But you're way too self-absorbed for that.)

Crumpled tissues litter the floor, wet with water
from spilled glasses that are 3 days old
(and old tears).
It's chaos, and not the kind that pleases.
Books are stacked everywhere, cheerful bright covers
and cheerful little stories, pathetically happy and fictional.

You look at it, from the cluttered desks
(cluttered bed, cluttered floor, cluttered bookcases, cluttered life)
to the pile of dirty old plates
to the small grimy windows, overlooking nothing but feet.
"Garbage. Your life is a garbage can. You are pathetic.
How do you live with yourself?"

Yes, it is. Yes, I am.
But then, so are you.
(And I've managed to live with you much longer)

You pull a pretty little notebook out of the nowhere
one of the many that I've jotted in
one of the many that I've abandonned

And sneer at the words.
They tell the life of the average typical teens.
(Drugs, sex, cutting and eating disorders, babe. We are in the era of the fucked up.
Behold, our new generation)

Don't sneer at my "life" boy.
Not until you get one of your own.
Until then, you're just a cold voice with nasty comments.
I’m too weary to do anything but sigh.

And one day, I wake to find out that you're gone.
You've left
(They all do, one way or another)
and I simply cannot wait to find out who will replace you.

I stumble out of bed
(gritty with the crumbs of crackers and god knows whats)
and step on the floor. Wet.
(I'm forever spilling water)

I reach my closet and see nothing but black
and sigh.
He's right. It depresses me.
(I feel like burning it all
and stepping out on the street, naked
void of what makes my identity
and standing with whatever that's left that makes me me)

So I do.
And I burn my room down too.
And I burn my life down too.
And I have nothing, nothing at all
(no chaos, no clutter, no black, no EDs, no nothing)
No nothing except me.

And I left this world
the very same way that I came.

With nothing but me.

-------------------------------------
He comes by the next day
to find a lump of ashes and ruins, fading in the wind.
He sighs.

The weak crawl back to their semblance of a life.
The strong systematically eliminate and built a new one.
The tortured burn it to the ground.

I Am

I am etc in a cloud of sharp strokes

Blurred in unimportance

lost in transition.

I am alone, pretending I’m not

Hesitantly using we

knowing it’s really you

and me.

I am mask behind a mask

... behind a mask.

The deeper the uglier,

with no core to show for

I am...

a heartbreak waiting to happen

Clinging onto fresh pain

and creating, when it gets rancid

I am a forgiver and forgetter

Because I really don’t give a damn

... selfish as I am.

I am, I am, I am

And one day, it can be said

that I am not.

You hold your breath,

I let mine out.

Hope For the Best

Twin collapses of the heart
Regrets never made anyone smile
But love, come sit by the fire
And let me tell you a story...

One of happy endings,
Where everything's okay
And demons are vanquished with brave acts.
And let me tell you...

That's what it could be.
That's what you could have.
These are the maybes of your future...
Just believe in your possibilities.

Everything's going to be okay,
I softly whisper.
Just a little strength,
I pray.

Bubble

We are the whatevers
The who gives a fucks
And the nobody cares.

We are the outside looking in
The wanting what we can't have and
The ever so pained.

And most of all
we are those that
Live only in our minds...

And nobody else's.

Splinters in my mind
andIcan'tthinkthinkthink
Skin on skin on cotton sheets, so wet with heat.
so cold with night.
Not the one, but the two
You are the two.
No. The zillith.
The zillith cut, the zillith scar
and zillith hurt.
And maybe one day, the zillith forgotten.
Forgotten, just like the one.

When you've reached the 3984259 scar... you've stopped counting.
But time is sparse and
half the cuts are mine, to forget about the ones which are yours.

Scars riddle the soul until there are scars on scars

Half yours. Half mine.
I love you

The inspiration of my previous blog?
Well, I was reading a book with that sort of a plotline. Hell, it wasn't even a plot, it was a sub-plot, with one of the minor characters. It made me cry more then the main character's tragedy XD I thought it was... the saddest thing I've ever heard. All I pictured was this bright, sunny girl, slowly fading away because the man she loved couldn't accept her.
Anyways, comment if you enjoyed, and please tell me what you think =)

Dear John,

I can't... do this anymore.
I can't... I'm sick of this, I'm so tired...
Do you remember when we first met? You were a senior... the handsome quarterback, off to become a doctor, the golden boy. I loved you, with a sweet, tender passion.
I... didn't run in the same circles. Pretty but plain, not too smart and not like one of those girls you dated. I didn't have the money to buy nice clothes, so I made my own. I tried out for cheerleading but couldn't afford the uniform... All the pretty blonde rich girls laughed at me when I came to the try-outs.
You were always nice to me... You said I was simple and sweet and I tried so hard for you. Nobody knew about us... they wouldn't understand, you said, they wouldn't accept. I remember, the first time after we went out, I said hello to you in the hallways... waiting, anticipating a kiss, feeling giddy with joy. You were with your friends, and you said ever so callously... What are you looking at? It hurt... You apologized, later. I forgave you. I was so hopelessly in love with you.
I know better now.
Then, one night, you asked me. You said that if I loved you, I would do this. And I did.
I found out that I was pregnant a month later... and, because you were an honorable guy, you married me. And you treated me like the worst mistake you ever made... I never felt... good enough. Your parents disowned you for marrying a piece of trailer trash and deep inside, you always blamed me and always took a moment to do so. You always reminded me I wasn't good enough, always blamed me because you couldn't go to Harvard to study medicine, and had to settle for the local community college. Always reminded me how stupid I was, how simple and dumb I was. I was so hopelessly in love with you.
So I decided to change. I changed the way I dressed, the way I talked, acted. Even the way I walked... sometimes, I slipped, and I would hate myself. I changed my name, because your mother once said that Amber was such a trashy name. I became Janet. I... tried to be sophisticated, for you. To be stylish, and worldly and beautiful- for you. I was so hopelessly in love with you.
Then... you began growing distant. This... change hadn't made you happy. You began to call me Amber again. When I asked you to call me Janet, you mockingly replied, "Why? That's your name, isn't it?" You made snide remarks about pretending to be somebody I was not and being a hypocrite.
And then this morning... when you shouted. Where's my wife?, you asked. You're so cold, so empty. Where's that bright, young girl I married? The optimistic girl who believed that everything would be okay? The one who brought home dandelions in a cup and put them on the dinner table, as if they were roses? How did she get replaced by this cold, unfeeling robot? I didn't mention that you threw the flowers out, telling me not to be stupid.
I can't do this anymore. I can't. It hurts too much, every word is like a razorblade against my skin. The sweet, simple girl inside me died... for you. You said you loved me... I believe you. But I also believe a part of you hated me, blamed me, was ashamed me. I loved you hopelessly. We were never equal, you always treated me like I was the biggest regret of your life... You didn't need to remind me. I feel it every day that I'm alive.
So... I'm leaving. I openened my heart and you took a stab. And when I changed who I was, you wanted me to open my heart again. I can't do this. I love you, John, but I give up. I'm dying and it hurts to much.

Sincerely...
Amber Janet White

The Need to Be

Angels walk this land on foot,
And demons run among them.
Mere mortals fill in the gaps,
Shades of gray within their hearts.

She wears the wings so cautiously,
It turns black upon her fingers.
Her vacant shell is but an pretense,
The actions but a complex mask.

The wickedness runs strong and deep,
Carefully hidden within the center.
The heart is hollow, the soul is none,
And smiles are as empty as mourning sky.

The stolen wings begin to fade,
Frayed by their misuse.
And as they die, truth is revealed
And image will reflect the core.

Demons can't hide so very long
And she will cry for what she is.

______________________________________________________________
Please comment =)

Collision

It'sComingIt'sComingIt'sComing
The end of the world, or yours and of mine
Can't you feel the hum in your blood?
Can you feel the franTIC beat of a pulse
and the dreading, the waiting, the sheer
SUSPENSE of what's to come?
Can you feel...
The fear?
Sharp and cold, like a blade sliding against your skin?
Can you taste the blood?
Of mine and of yours, the pain that will come with it.
Can you see... my eyes:
The anger, the sadness, the hurt, the weariness?
Finished

I'm on the edge and I'll be pushed no more
This time: it's you who'll be falling

A normal blog

I haven't written in a while. The stories, they're not coming. The questions, they're not coming.
I hope I haven't lost my imagination. I really do... I miss it =(
I... haven't been a good friend lately. I'm going to try.
I can smell drama.
I don't care, as long as it's for a good cause.
I...

think that I'm sticking. I'll tell someone, someday, about the things that hurt. About the things I'm ashamed of. Not today, not tomorrow.
Someday?
I let out a long sigh. It's hard. These secrets... the hard part is not keeping it to myself. The hard part is letting it out.
And I need to let it out to let go.

He still runs in her blood.
And hers.
And hers.
And I sigh, yet again, because I understand. He ran in mine once too, remember?
I do, sometimes. And it's weird, because he didn't run particularly strong in mine.
Seb did. Seb... burned deeply in my veins, stayed in my system and beat with my heart.
But I know now that he's not the one. Somedays I wish he was. He could've been. But he's not. He still runs in my blood. But... not near as much as he did then.
I think... he'll always be there, somewhere.

I think... that I'm feeling melancholic. It's not easy.
I thought it was, but I didn't see the sharks underneath.
Pray that it smells no blood.
Pray that it takes no life.
Pray that if it does, what's broken will be fixed.

It started like a normal blog, as the title says. I think that books should have two titles. The one decided at the beginning. The one decided at the end.

My ending title: there will be blood

(untitled)

I have the bones of a story in my head, it's been hanging around there for quite a while...

What if you knew exactly when you were going to die? Since the day you were born? Rachel Blair has known since she was born that she'd die when she was 27 years, 87 days, 14 hours and a couple minutes old. It is not a vision, it didn't come in a dream. She just knew. She's denied it, defied, ignored it and now she simply accepts it and plans to live her life to the fullest. She takes nothing for granted, especially the life she holds so dearly. The only thing she vows is to never fall in love and especially never be loved in return.
She meets the love of her life at twenty-five, but dares not to fall in love with him. Because she knows that she has a little less then two years to be with him, she fights what she feels. Ben Gaber is the boy-next-door type, with the big heart and wholesome good looks. He knew, aas soon as he saw her, that she was the one. He loves everything about her: her confidence, the ease of how she lives, her bright laughter and constant smiles. After months of courting, flirting and persuading, they develop a relationship. Rachel struggles with telling him, not sure he'll believe. Ben knows there's something under the surface of that confident smile, he knows she's holding something back. She won't say yes to his marriage proposal and she won't say why. Rachel fights with telling him, and just wants to live a normal life, but the clock is ticking ever so quickly and there's nothing she can do. They're forver fighting, and she begs him, tells him to cherish the time they have and that he'll understand soon. He can't do anything but accept it.
The night before she dies, she's made her decision. She doesn't want to see him die, doesn't want him to be hurtm in case it's an accident.
So, on the morning of her death, she leaves the apartment they share and leaves him with a note.

I'm sorry Ben, I couldn't tell you. I'll always love you, forever.
I'm just sorry that my forever is nothing but 27 years.
My life is over, but yours have yet to begin.
Forget me, forget what we have and move on.
Love, always, Rachel

She goes out that day, she setted her watch to count down till the moment of her death. She contemplates how she'll die. A health problem? An attack? She wonders as she strolls the street of New York, brazenly accepting her death. She has prepared for it all her life. She just wished that Ben was prepared, too.
She sees a boy, run along his mother and tears up a bit, thinking of the child she and Ben could have had. The life they could have built and the months she wasted, resisting him. The boy runs into the street, laughing and all innocent, unaware of the car sppeding ahead. She runs, pushes the boy and hears the watch alarm sound. Time's up.
Ah, she thinks, right before impact, so that's how it ends.
Ben comes home, sees the note and feels worried, confused. He calls her cell but it's not on. He panicks and calls her, again and again. He finds the journal she kept underneath the bed. One she started after she accepted to go on a date with him, one explaining how she felt. How mad she was at the world, at god because it wasn't fair, how scared she felt of death, how much she loved him and how helpless she felt. He denies it, denies what she writes but deep inside, he knows.
The door bell rings and he rushes to answer it, hoping with all his might that it was Rachel.
Two cops are at the door, with their useless words.
"I'm sorry sir, but there's been an accident concerning your girlfriend..."
The words fade and he all but collapse.
"Is she alright?" He hears himself saym "Tell me she's alright, please." But he knows the truth.
"She's barely survivng, the paramedics had to rescusitate her a couple of times and she's in critical condition, but they think she'll be fine..."

That's all I have. Hope you enjoyed =)
Comment please

Words

They say a picture is worth a thousand words but I shake my head and say no. The power of words lay not in quantity but quality and those thousand words hold no direction. A simple phrase can make you feel or make you think but a thousand words will only bore. Furthermore, words have power, have impact, have meaning and sometimes, pictures simply cannot comprehend. Words provoke, they make you think and bury themselves deep into the mind. Images are but an impression, a shock at first that later fades.Words last.

Posted with LifeCast

A Character...

She's ugly. The core of her, anyhow. I won't say she's beautiful on the outside; she's not. The surface, that thin veneer is plain. No adornments, very solemn murky colors. Her mouth is slight, her eyes are quiet. She hates inside, oh, but it is a quiet hate. It won't burn out soon. A ghost, that's what she is, living in the past, clinging to regrets. She moves ever so gracefully, soundlessly. Invisible. She glides from corner to corner but none ever sees her. She feels little but the resentment, the hate she holds on to. It consumes her, like slow-moving poison. She'd be nothing without it. And she'll never die. Don't you know? You can't die twice.

Her name is forgotten, but we'll call her Solange

Not a story either...

And it's not to pretty. Maybe language wise it is, but no content wise.

I don't feel like...
running, jumping, laughing, screaming, cheering, skipping, flying and trying.
I just feel very...
Still.
There's something in me that doesn't want to try. To live.
It's a bit scared, it's been hurt. it likes the dark, it likes to hide. It doesn't like noise, chaos, so it whispers and doubts, whispers and doubts. It's like a frightened child, looking, listening and never saying a word. Solemn eyes and careful movements. It hesitates- stops. It just wants to be left alone, in the very very cold.
I cry a little whenever I see it, because it's a part of me and I want it out.
I want to cut it out, rip it out, just tear it from me. But I can't do it because it isn't in me but it's a part of me, a part of my soul.

Oh the past can be a very ugly thing.

This is not a story, but...

It's a pretty piece of writing.

It's not easy.
Some days are heavy, my heart feels the weight.
And they're just not easy.
Some days I pretend they are.
Some days, I'm so good at pretending that I get caught up and believe I can make it easy.
Some days, there is no heaviness.
Some days, most days, are light and jaunty and I believe I can do everything and anything in between but then I look back and I've hardly done something.
Some days aren't easy... but I'm not giving up.

A Dream

This is from one of the stories floating around in my head. It originally started out as an angel's daughter and Lucifer's son meeting, falling in love. The girl didn't know what she was, she was simply human and a little extra. The boy was being groomed to take over the Underworld. When they met, the boy knew who she was, the girl had no idea. He also knew it would never work, but he couldn't help it. Because their love was forbidden, when they were discovered, her memory was wiped and he was prohibited to go near her.
This idea came to me when I was thinking about her tragic it would be if you were not only forced to be separated from the one you love, but made to forget. To cross them on the street, looking at them as if they were a stranger, and not remember all you had together, all the love the bound the two together.
Anyhow, the story starts when the girl has already forgotten yet fragments of memories are there in her dream. It's not an epic scene... But it was in my mind nevertheless =)

She framed his face in his hands, those strong bones and warm skin. She peered deep into his electric blue eyes, eyes she loved so much. She loved the sparkle in them, the secret amusement. She loved when they flashed with anger, or when they gazed dreamily. Her heart melted when she gazed into them and saw when he was overcome with love, when he just looked at her and she knew he loved her with everything he had. There were no words.

“Never. I’ll never forget you. You mean everything, are everything.” She breathed and choked up with all the love she felt for him, the same look in her eyes. He leaned in to kiss her, warm, sweet, gentle and tender. When she opened her eyes, his lovely eyes were saddened though his smile was still resilient. His face conveyed quiet regret and he whispered the words, words that she wasn’t sure she heard right, “Yeah. You will.”

Raven woke with a jolt. It felt so real, as if she were touching him, and the words were familiar to her heart. She dismissed it with a mental shrug and went back to sleep.

In the distant, electric blue eyes peer through her window from afar. There were no words.

Introduction: The Curious Case of Sofi-Lee

I have stories in my head, just floating around.
Actually, not stories, but just scenes. Story fragments. A random conversation, a dream, a specific event. This is the child of my psychotic overgrown imagination. Sometimes I make them up. For example, they can be many scenes from one story. They can be many scenes stemming from one story. Or, sometimes they're inspired... They can be two characters from a book I recently read, put in a weird situation, an alternative ending, etc, etc, etc.
The only thing I can say is, for some reason, I have scenes in my head, not stories. I can have the general outline of a story, the bare bones, but I can rarely flesh them out.
Here's my creative outlet, because I would hate to lose these ideas. Some, I'm fond of. Others aren't worth mentioning. But they're all me, and so here I am. =)