Story cover for Blind by directionermiamaus
Blind
  • WpView
    Reads 977
  • WpVote
    Votes 90
  • WpPart
    Parts 8
  • WpHistory
    Time 35m
  • WpView
    Reads 977
  • WpVote
    Votes 90
  • WpPart
    Parts 8
  • WpHistory
    Time 35m
Ongoing, First published Oct 21, 2014
I can't see you. I can't see you smile, whenever I enter the room, I can't see your mouth form these three beautiful words that I love the most, I can't see your eyes looking like sparkling diamonds when I tell you that I love you. I can't see the way you smile when i made you happy. I can't see the way your caring and understanding eyes look at me in my darkest times. I can't see the way you frown while you're lending a sympathetic ear to all of my problems. And never will. 
But you know what. I don't care. I know that you smile, every time I enter the room, I know that you secretly watch me all the time. I know when I made you smile. I know that you're eyes always look at me, showing that you care for me. I know that you frown while listening to all of my problems in the most understanding way that is even possible.

I know it, because I love you. 
And I know you love me
love doesn't make blind, it makes me see more clear than ever before
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Pinwheels and Dandelions by cjacks1124
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I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.
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