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Literature Text
"It's degenerative. There's nothing else you can do."
No, but really. What's the next test? The next plan? Where do we go from here?
"You can take something for the pain. That's all."
I'm 30 years old, and there's nothing left to do.
No, but really. What's the next test? The next plan? Where do we go from here?
"You can take something for the pain. That's all."
I'm 30 years old, and there's nothing left to do.
Literature
and we found...
we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold gru
Literature
The Ex
I tried to ignore the blood-red stain spreading inexorably across my white skirt. The maitre'd fussed about, offering me napkins and apologies by turns. With the company I was wont to keep, it occurred to me that I was a fool for not having bought shares in White King. It seemed an interminable age before the waiter finally left with a promise to bring another bottle. I asked if he could make it a dry white, this time.
I turned my attentions back to the man sitting across the table from me, forcing myself to meet his eyes. Sharp green met nervous hazel. "David…" I kept my voice soft, but firm. I could see the tension taking hold
Literature
the dreamer
Do you remember the days when you scooped me up and I thrived in your sand-grain pores? It was autumn then, the leaves were too crisp and red back then, and you know how terrified of fire I was. In the summers I turned into burning coal and cracking volcano shells, and in the winter I would be blown away in the wind, acrobatic summersaults until I became another piece of hail in an ice storm.
But the hail is beginning to thaw and soak sweetly in the swelling ground. The mud will spring grass and flowers and forests will grow before my eyes. Im still a naive fledgling but you have your own freedom to chase after. Im the flower und
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Sometimes the journey ends with melancholy.
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Comments3
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Wait, what now? This is listed as non-fiction. Something serious happen?