FlawedFlawed5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I hate it when you call me perfect.
Would you like to know why?
Because I know that nobody's perfect, no one could possible be perfect. That totally goes against human nature.
But nobody seems to believe that when I tell them.
"Oh no," they explain, "You're the perfect child."
That's really funny.
Because when you call me perfect, I feel like I have to seek out my flaws, just to prove to you that I am indeed NOT perfect.
I don't think you know how hard it is to focus on your flaws all day, every day.
I feel like I have to play up my flaws (although you promise I have none) to make you see what I can clearly make out when I look in a cloudy mirror:
You'll never know how much it hurts me to have you constantly telling me how perfect my life is
Two soulsTwo soulsTwo souls5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Two people meet. One boy, one girl. Simple and easy. By the breath of hundreds of miles, these two have a different relationship. They know each other, but only in voice and not in body. They start out as slow friends, and eventually get to know and learn who they are.
Talk, talk, talk, learn, learn, learn. It's all they can do. These two, separated by the bounds of fate, eventually begin to feel for one another, emotions swirling in the cooking pot of love. They both don't know what to make of this, as assuredly one of the two may know more about love than the other, the feeling is still awkward. Someone far away and yet feeling something for them? How absurd. How stupid. They've never even met. How could you know so much about one person and yet never even see them once in your entire life?
The heart-wretchedness grows stronger as they delve deeper into one another's souls. They begin to talk about their feelings, and how they're feeling toward one another. One more bl
me finding you.this is nothing more than the silly fluttering of an equally silly heart.me finding you.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
this is my tongue tripping on the truth and my trembling fingers clawing at my arm trying to get rid of the heart bleeding on it. this is my teeth clacking together and my emotions knockknockknocking against my ribs so i might please let them out to play.
this is my words getting abandoned in the silences and the pauses swallowing the tension whole. this is using your moss green eyes as a northern star when i'm getting lost in possibilities, using your smile as the curve i rest in when the world's too much to bear.
this is fighting my own spine to stand up straight when your voice is unwinding my nerves and using my vertebrae as your personal game of jenga. this is allowing you to take small pieces at a time, eroding at my walls until i'm crumpling like origami on your front porch, unwinding to lay helplessly at your feet.
this is day dreaming about nights with you and instead spending them painting your laughter