

she is no ragdoll.the house is dark and silent as i crawl out of bed and tiptoe to the window. my fingers find their way into my mouth and i wait noiselessly by the window. a flash of red, and his car pulls up outside my house. he finally arrives, as always, later than we'd arranged. i pull my fingers out of my mouth and press them up against the cold glass, hesitating for a moment before slowly pushing the window open. he is already by the window, scowling. my hand finds its way into his and his arm encircles my waist to softly drop me onto the lawn. he swiftly pushes the window back until only a sliver is left, enough for tiny fingers to pry it back open, bushe is no ragdoll.


24 failures, 24 tries.i lie awake in bed listening to the rain beat against my windowpane. the house is dark except for the faint glow emitting from underneath my door; my bedside lamp is always on and i go through more light bulbs a month than you can count. It always comes down to lying awake in bed.24 failures, 24 tries.
my nights always start off with words - i originally kept a diary in hopes of awkward childhood nostalgia but after a while, it didn't seem to work and by then, i kept a diary out of habit and sanity, to keep the chapters of my life from obliterating into the encompassing spaces of life. my daily events are neatly listed in chronological order, staring


not so soft.somehow i always took savannah for granted. she was a quiet girl in black sitting behind me in class. my photo negative best friend. ever since we were in kindergarten, she and i had been best friends. the teachers sometimes considered us one entity.not so soft.
our personalities clashed; i never understood why she would never talk and never cried. it made me seem like a baby sometimes, always crying in front of her. i tilted the newer, light desk back, the plastic seat bending against her old wooden left-handed half desk. she wasn't left handed, but all the other desks had been taken. she made a face and grunted something before shoving me
Just letting all of my watchers know. (:
--
--
<3carol.
--
is so strange.
is a Non-Fiction Writer
is Female
is a deviant since Nov 17, 2004, 5:50 PM
has 1,000 pageviews
is located in United States
last visited 4d 18h 43m 28s ago
is currently
is an AIM user; ruine des idylle
ummm....yay? :\
And you did this all to yourself, so don't try and blame it on me or Keri or Sam or anyone else.
--
all men, like birds, must die.
You call yourself "a writer at heart." I call you a talentless shitpot desperate for someone's attention.
--
"... And please send plush bonnet number 29d8077."
If deception had a face, I can't help but wonder if it would be yours.
That's not okay, Jen. You know it's not okay, but you do it, time after time. And I'm not okay with that.
Holy fuck, Jen. Holy fuck.
Previous Page12345...Next Page