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Literature Text
There's a heady exhilaration blooming in my chest and a broad, triumphant smile on my lips and I know I look almost too happy, but I can't control my beaming, and I am absolutely bursting to tell you the news:
That my essay was perfect, that I nailed the presentation, that the biochem final was a walk in the park.
And, oh, God, I want to tell you so many things and that I love you and that I want you and I want to feel your arms around me, just barely containing my wild excitement. I want to laugh with relief and feel your lips curve up in a smile against the skin of my neck.
And I love you,
I love you,
I love you.
It's these moments when I am absolutely on top of the world that I want to share with you. I want you to laugh and tease me and call me a nerdy little bookworm and your baby girl and then kiss me all over so that I am pulled in a thousand directions at once. I want to absolutely unwind in your arms, but you hold me so tightly that I'm never afraid of falling apart.
And, oh--
Oh.
Sometimes I forget that you're gone.
My chest, only moments ago so light and full, grows heavy as lead, and my throat closes up, and oh, God, don't cry. Not here. Not now.
I am alone in my room when I finally let go. With my face in my hands and my back against the door, it is like you've only been gone a few minutes, like I could open the door and see your retreating back. Like I could chase after you.
Beg you.
Please.
Please don't go.
I only want to tell you.
Oh, God, just to tell you.
That I…
I--
That my essay was perfect, that I nailed the presentation, that the biochem final was a walk in the park.
And, oh, God, I want to tell you so many things and that I love you and that I want you and I want to feel your arms around me, just barely containing my wild excitement. I want to laugh with relief and feel your lips curve up in a smile against the skin of my neck.
And I love you,
I love you,
I love you.
It's these moments when I am absolutely on top of the world that I want to share with you. I want you to laugh and tease me and call me a nerdy little bookworm and your baby girl and then kiss me all over so that I am pulled in a thousand directions at once. I want to absolutely unwind in your arms, but you hold me so tightly that I'm never afraid of falling apart.
And, oh--
Oh.
Sometimes I forget that you're gone.
My chest, only moments ago so light and full, grows heavy as lead, and my throat closes up, and oh, God, don't cry. Not here. Not now.
I am alone in my room when I finally let go. With my face in my hands and my back against the door, it is like you've only been gone a few minutes, like I could open the door and see your retreating back. Like I could chase after you.
Beg you.
Please.
Please don't go.
I only want to tell you.
Oh, God, just to tell you.
That I…
I--
Literature
maybe i'll die for the truth
when i was seven, i forgot how to be a kid, and i grew up, and once you grow up, you rarely grow down. when i was fourteen, you told me i made you sad to talk to, and that i should cheer up and look around at all the beautiful things in the world, but you can't see the beauty in things that sicken you. you can't pretend that the world is alright when people are dying and starving and crying and wars are being fought and the right people are losing and the wrong ones are winning-you can't see beauty in these types of things.
when i was seventeen, you told me i was beautiful, but the wrong kind. and i thought, how can you be the wrong kind of
Literature
please let me get what i want.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up. I woke up with this bone-deep ache that never went away. I woke up to an incessant question playing in my mind that would never be answered. I woke up alone.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up without you when I woke up at all. The thing about time is that it never does make anything better. It just means more space to think. It means sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. When it went wrong. How to make it better. It means slowly losing my mind. But it never once meant getting over you.
It's funny how the things you think you've forgotten always come rushing back when you
Literature
read this without breathing
Don't call me beautiful.
This isn't some over the counter form of self-deprecation. It's truth in a full-informed prescription. Maybe you've figured this out by now and I'm wasting my words telling you, but darling, I'm an acidic mess and I promise I'll burn holes through your best intentions. Read this as the label marked "warning." Or maybe I'm a battlefield and honestly, blow by blow, you're killing me. But usually, I'm simply a one-way road that dead-ends at your doorstep and I'm crashing into you.
I swear we do the worst things to each other in the worst and most nonsensical ways.
Don't pretend I'm clever.
I'm just recycled words fro
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Sometimes all I want to do is tell you how much I still love you.
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Comments23
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painful. yet oh so beautiful. i felt my chest heave with the narrator's. heard a voice inside my head saying, "if only, if only..."
there are too many 'if only's' in this world, and this piece captured the worst one for a child.
brilliant. absolutely brilliant.
there are too many 'if only's' in this world, and this piece captured the worst one for a child.
brilliant. absolutely brilliant.