‘Tis hard to bury one’s friend. ‘Tis even harder to bury one’s lover.
She prepares for the party, with her hair curled and her lipstick pristine. She smooths out her black dress, because the crinkles are too imperfect for the party. Too imperfect for him.
The party is, of course, for him.
Your memory is perfect and you are not. However, no one is caring because the memory is all that remains.
The party is boring and the atmosphere is as alive as the host.
The host is dead.
This party could be wonderful, if it wasn’t what it was.
She cries so softly, into her fragile wrists, which smell like flowers and fruit. She cries until the perfume becomes the tears and the tears become the perfume.
Nothing ever works out like she thinks it will.
Tell me, dear, are you smiling somewhere? Take me to your smile, dear.
He lies on his back, eyes blank and emotionless. Her nails dig into the cold flesh that covers his hand, as if hoping for him to slap her fingers away and tell her to stop.
He doesn’t.
Her tears are a blur of unsaid feelings and the what-ifs that became what-could-never-be’s. His tears aren’t there.
Lately, everybody’s faces have started to look the same. Can you tell me why?
He falls into a pit and she falls into depression. His fingers are destined to become as cold as the stone that marks their destination.
They’ve all become you. All imaginary, and they’ve taken on your form.
The winter winds never bother her as she stays curled up on top of the mound of dirt that separates her from him. If superstition is right, his ghost will haunt her because of her actions.
She only longs for that to happen.
Tell them to stop, it’s making me become insane.
oh look, that was sad. nothing new. this is some old writing i dug up from the heart of my laptop. i've been really busy recently, as i have embarked on a new project - not a writing one, though. i'm working on turning my own screenplay into a short film so i've abandoned writing for a short while. thanks for all the support and understanding you've all given me, it's been great. so, a semi-hiatus starting now until some time in the future. thanks lovelies xox
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Love Stories For A Rainy Day
Teen Fictionlove [n.] an intense feeling of deep affection. a collection of love stories for a rainy day. none have any relevance to the others, and yet they all belong as they are all about that feeling of deep affection.
