Fall is a contradiction. I am a contradiction. I am the begging of something new or the beginning of the end. I have no real sense of purpose, it is something that simply exists. It's confused as to who it's supposed to be, because spring knows what it's supposed to be. Spring is happy, new and filled with hope. But I'm not, I mean sometimes I am... but most of the time I'm not. I'm to close to winter to still feel like summer. Summer is filled with sparks of inspiration and newfound love but I'm simply the dying sparks of those dying sparks. I try to be happy and content with who I am. I try to stand out and not become caught in the shadows of these to seasons. Because I am my own right? I have things that people love about me. At least I think I do. But than I slip into who winter is... instead of staying true to my previous thoughts. I fall into that cold lifeless state as my trees become as barren as I feel inside. I slip into these thoughts as winter begins to take ahold and I slowly disappear from the world.
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Little Things
Historia CortaA collection of all the short stories I write. The subject for each story changes.
