She snapped a image from her camera. It seemed better on there than her phone, the pictures of trees, flowers, plants. She started to take pictures less often- no new sights, same old thing.
She laid down on her bed, and started to type. Type to the people who she thought looked at her like one of the happiest. She started to break more often- no new words, same old thing.
She made herself stick out, yet invisible. Same things, same words, same actions, same emotions. And she was tired of it, tired of her mind being a mess. Thoughts appeared and disappeared, sometimes misunderstood, sometimes not.
Why didn't she remember it, like all the other facts and knowledge she memorized? Why couldn't she ever think of the problems ever again, unless she wrote them down?
She knew why.
I do too. So does the sheep.
All she will do is throw in another bottle, filled with paper, toss it, throw it away, no longer her problem. It faded away from her mind and when the bottles were filled too much, she emptied them by crying and yelling, not remembering what she had bottled up.
She held herself close, wanting to scream it all out, shout, yell, cry, yet it was all too painful for her to tell.
She didn't want anyone else to know how she felt. She didn't want to know either. She wanted it all to fade away, and was aware that it wasn't the best of paths to go.
How do I know? Let's say she is... a close friend.
Let's say I am the only other person besides her that knows what her mind goes through.
Anyway, I need to tend to my sheep. Afterall, my mind is a mess, filled with all these sheep.
K JRAET WBNFVP AY EE NRG UGXYMRRNV. DC SGL I.
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Counting Sheep
Teen FictionOne sheep, two sheep, This is not helping at all. Three sheep, four- Someone kill me, I must snoop this low. Five sheep, six sheep, I feel tired, but the waters still flow. Seven sheep, eight she- It looks like the sheep hit a wall. I guess eight sh...
