It’s like this. When I saw her I was afraid. She was different, dark. A prominent symbol of the depression that she wore about her in defiance of those who pushed her down.
But when I met her, oh how happy she was. How bubbly, how fun. How very much like the picture of a happy, sometimes sad, seventh grade girl. We awkwardly survived that year by playing softball on the weekends and greeting each other kindly in the hallways. We moved onward, tossing the ball ahead into eighth grade where it rolled for awhile in green pastures.
But it is also like this. There was a hole. Big and deep. The ball found this hole. If it had been me, just
I walked through the silent forest, flashes of memory hitting me like shards of broken glass from an explosion. Each one cut into me as it flew past, reminding me of the events of those few, terrible moments just a few days ago. I looked to the huge oak, and on its roots her blood flowed, soft and red, spreading and soaking into the bark and the dark ground. Her pale face rested on a bed of decayed leaves. Even the smell came back to me, the sick metallic odor of the blood and the rich earthy smell of leaves. The sounds rang through my ears: light footfalls through the fallen leaves, someone running, the laughing, the screaming, &ld
It’s like this. When I saw her I was afraid. She was different, dark. A prominent symbol of the depression that she wore about her in defiance of those who pushed her down.
But when I met her, oh how happy she was. How bubbly, how fun. How very much like the picture of a happy, sometimes sad, seventh grade girl. We awkwardly survived that year by playing softball on the weekends and greeting each other kindly in the hallways. We moved onward, tossing the ball ahead into eighth grade where it rolled for awhile in green pastures.
But it is also like this. There was a hole. Big and deep. The ball found this hole. If it had been me, just
I walked through the silent forest, flashes of memory hitting me like shards of broken glass from an explosion. Each one cut into me as it flew past, reminding me of the events of those few, terrible moments just a few days ago. I looked to the huge oak, and on its roots her blood flowed, soft and red, spreading and soaking into the bark and the dark ground. Her pale face rested on a bed of decayed leaves. Even the smell came back to me, the sick metallic odor of the blood and the rich earthy smell of leaves. The sounds rang through my ears: light footfalls through the fallen leaves, someone running, the laughing, the screaming, &ld
I'm in college, and sometimes I do art, sometimes I write, and sometimes I don't post for a really long time. Sorry. I love the environment, mountain biking, and painting.
Do you ever have those days where you think about all you have and say to yourself, "Hey, you, yeah you. You should be really grateful for everything!"
And then I feel REALLY HAPPY and I love life for the whole day.
...those are good days...
Just went to homecoming. At the preparty (with only seven people) I learned this new game which I plan on showing to everyone I know. It's called Pterodactyl. You stand in a circle with a group of people and stretch your lips over your teeth. Then you go around the circle saying Pterodactyl through your stretched lips. If you want to change the direction of the circle, you must flap your hands and make a loud noise. The point is to not show your teeth, because if you do you lose! (: ITS SO FUN.
Try it.
now.
HEE HEE well, you know, how could I not? I just visited one of my friends and her mom is a really good photographer (she went to college for it) and she has seen the pics of me on FB and she said to compliment you on them. She says they look professionally done!! you are amazing, my lovely one! ILOVEYOUSOMUCH