

Hitting the bottomThe sun was bright that day, the smell of burning asphalt and dry grass floating about, carried by little golden sparkles in the soft afternoon light.Hitting the bottom
She looks him over observantly, the sun playing in his hair, the light captive in his eyes.
You remind me of summer. She says.
He looks at her, amused.
Of summer you say?
Yes, of golden sand and clear blue water, and also of thunderstorms and burning heat. You remind me of the summer sun. If I stay next to you for too long I am sure to get burned.
He smirks but does not answer. She


Of Wind and StonesThis was the first time shed ever written something not sad for him.Of Wind and Stones
She could still taste the bittersweet melancholy of the previous weeks on the tip of her tongue.
She had been twisting her thoughts, had been searching her mind for the answer to whatever it was that was happening to her.
Happening to him.
She had tried to understand the reason, maybe somewhere in his underlying thoughts, Maybe in the nights in which, even though he told himself he was not lonely, he realized he was, Or maybe in the truth that she had never told him, but that she tried showing him instead.


Confusion in a White RoomConfusion in a White RoomConfusion in a White Room
I wish I could paint this sad white room In all the colors of the rainbow And paint white clouds that I could cry
My heart out of In drops of graceful and candid
Loneliness. I hate this feeling that you give me This neediness and sadness that
My being chokes upon . Pieces of putrid truths When I cant see you and when you Let me down.
I dont want these eyes
That look at me in unclear ways Like broken mirrors showing
The same face in a million Unalike and unclear images,
Non
--
that's as bad as secondhand suicide
--
that's as bad as secondhand suicide
So glad you do. (:
--
that's as bad as secondhand suicide
Fayt here by the way
nava.
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