earthquake, fingers break.
i began writing of watching people as they sleep, of how a soft voice from within phone wires can make everything that is storming within chest cavities calm. i began writing of a girl who never believed in fairytales. a girl who believed that once she found something in her life that made her happy, everything would be fine. a girl who believed in her own fairytale. a girl who was a hypocrite.
it is always fascinating watching the way the world breaks. how cracks begin to form and widen and feet get stuck and fingers turn white and eyes widen and the last thing we see are the stars. it always happens in slow motion.
i began writing about how the girl’s world began to break. how brittle fingernails could not hold on, feet searching for stable ground. the sort of girl whose words were always able to save her from herself. how she was always able to find something to hold on to. i wrote of how even now, she knows the spot her hands could grab to save her from falling, but she is not reaching.
i began writing of a voice that keeps her sane, makes the things crawling beneath skin settle and i began writing of stable ground, but i can never finish writing about such things.
drifting + writer’s block = falling.
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Still so beautiful though. Falling + the realization = A valley so low, but so beautiful of green grass And animals all around, where you can see the mountain’s peak. A river too. Falling + Landing = room to grow because peaks are barren and empty with no room for growing. Falling + writer’s block = standstill beauty. -Sinless Silhouette
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keep writting, you will create what you are searching for
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i wish you would reach. so many bridges would be built and burnt in that moment for you and your forever. but i understand and i love you.
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hold onto me i will keep you from falling i miss you darling take care of yourself ;;
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true story,
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I will fall with you. xx,
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amen.
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never stray to the end.
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hangover + lots of mistakes + cake = birthday.random but anyway.take care.
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writer’s block has plagued me for months now. on my way up the stairs, i met a man who wasn’t there.. he wasn’t there again today.. i wish, i wish he’d go away..
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all i write about is him….i don’t want to write about him anymore, but he haunts me….
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These are the things I write about as well. Because, after all, fiction is simply too difficult.
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Why do all the beautiful ones go through heartache?
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GOOD IMAGERY! 🙂
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i like this alot. the way it is written…left curious for another installment to a story without a beginning meant to end…curious
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