Still Alive

Still Alive

  • WpView
    Reads 1,112
  • WpVote
    Votes 77
  • WpPart
    Parts 15
WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing49m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, Jan 26, 2013
I had always had a way with words. As corny as it may sound I don't know, I had always loved the way words swayed themselves to match perfectly with each other. Authors created words that made worlds which seemed to drag you in as you read. So it wasn't hard knowing what to say and when. With age -though I was never thought to put words on paper and make them my own- I learned how to drag people along by saying the right thing. This was how I got what I what I wanted, most of the time anyway. So yes. You can defiantly say that I had a way with my words. The way Mason, however, spoke his words were different. He spoke the truth and gave his opinion and in no way did his words pull me in. Instead they drew me close and held me tight and made me warm. Like a safety blanket I grew to need him. His words were like the way a mother held her new born baby, safe and close.
All Rights Reserved
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • Silent scars
  • His Obsession
  • Love Like This
  • Not Your Luna (Formerly His Rogue Luna)
  • Our Secret To Keep.
  • Broken (Not Vry Good Rd At Own Rsk)
  • | MMRM | My Mate, Remember Me
  • Saving Lily
  • DO YOU REMEMBER ME? (Completed)
  • The Street Fighter (#Wattys2014)

Life had always been a puzzle-one that didn't quite fit together. I was born into a world of contradictions. My mother, torn between her faith and a set of beliefs rooted in an ever-evolving reality, did the best she could. But the path we walked was anything but easy. She wasn't the comforting kind of mother; instead, she was tough, demanding, and at times, cruel. But in the chaos of it all, I tried to find a version of love that made sense, a version of peace that I could hold on to. When I was young, I never felt like I belonged. Maybe it was because I was often the outsider-the girl whose father was absent, whose family was scattered across worlds they could never understand. Maybe it was because my mother never really had time for me, too busy with her own battles to notice how much I needed someone to truly see me. My world was filled with words that cut deeper than knives, accusations that always seemed to land on me. Yet, despite all of this, there was a fire in me, a hunger to rise above the noise. I was just seventeen when I took my first step into a new world, a world where I could create myself, far from the prying eyes of those who couldn't understand. But even as I moved forward, my past followed me like a shadow I couldn't shake off. It wasn't long before I found myself walking a tightrope between expectations and desires. As I tried to figure out who I was in a place that felt foreign, I made mistakes-some small, some big, but all of them mine. It was in those moments of weakness that I found strength I never knew I had. Every mistake was a lesson. Every tear shed was a step closer to becoming someone who could walk her own path. But life didn't stop. It never does.

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines