The product of our last three weeks. Enjoy!
Through the torture of the crowds, she still believed peeing in that 0,50 euro stall was life-changing.
It's like I'm a shark, and you're the reason I can't stop moving. It'd be easier without you, but I wouldn't be who I am.
Melanie had never learned how to mend a heart, but she knew fifty different ways to break a window. For now, this was enough.
with every step she took her mind screamed 'fuck it fuck it fuck it' but she couldn't help but imagine that gorgeous climax.
And as spring blossomed into summer drifted into autumn solidified into winter melted into spring once again, she pondered how long all of it took and how short-lived it was anyway.
The red plastic cup that once held chocolate milk and now held beer fell off the table as she watched the boy dive for the pool cue and crash into the floor. She wondered if, maybe, they had had more fun back then.
it was only when his chocolate-coated drops of hair smashed against the window that she wondered if there was something wrong.
She wasn't sure if it was the chocolate or the milk that tasted funny, but for some reason the hot cocoa in her current country was different than the one back home. Three sips in an she realized- there were no mini marshmellows.
her biology teacher said that people ate chocolate as an attempt to compensate for low endorphin levels. what her teacher didn't know was that her brain chemistry was too far beyond the reaches of chocolate to save.
as she curved her body into the crevice of the discarded tree trunk, the wisps of coiled seductively around the incline of her neck and highlighted her ashen-gray face with the haunting melody of something lost.
like a thrash of theives they marched in their black-outlined-red coats and together they banded together even though one by one they fell to the cold.
as eyes met eyes and he noticed those stone tracks of tears down his face, and the ghosted-expressions hidden by the foot of the bed, he knew that one of them wouldn't be coming back any time soon.
The world is full of ghosts, you see. Most people just like to call them memories nowadays.
"Momma, how do they make the cheese slices the same size?" "The same way you make dreams, dear. By machine."
"You're a big girl now; you can handle sleeping with the lights off." "I know, mom, but what if the monsters are still scared of the dark?"
In the end it was just a rock engraved in metal; in the end it was just another abandoned dream; but in the beginning it was a marriage.
Have you ever noticed how much worse things sound when they have forever tagged to the end? We'll be friends...forever; it'll be peaceful...forever; she's dead...forever.
Whose idea was it, I wonder, that stories can never be real life?
"And this is the button you press in case anything ever seems important." "But what if it nothing ever does?" "Then welcome to sales."
one day, your child will tug at your elbow and ask you how babies are made, and you'll say that a computer took mommy and daddy's genes and mixed them together perfectly and out came your baby, and it will all be true.
"ba-dum-kshh," sang the percussionist, right on cue. but this time, nothing was funny anymore.
the only things he broke better than jawbones were promises.
it started with a clumsy pinky-promise and ended with a slender wedding band. oh, how times have changed.
"He proposed on the swingset." "Aww, back in kindergarten?" "No, just last Saturday."
It was sad but it was true; his hand was the only woman that had never left him.
And as he walked down the wide-open tunnel he realized that he had smoked all his tomorrows and left only the used wrappers of yesterdays still faint from the leaves' burnt perfume.
"I don't think you understand, honey," he said laughing into his coffee at my wide-eyed confusion. "We're writers. We write our way into the grave."
"What does a mirror look like when there's nothing reflected on it?" "I'm not sure. What does a human look like when there's nothing reflected on it?"
It remembered everything that had ever happened. Quite clearly, in fact. But when it laid down to rest it all happened again.
"These statues in the rain always make me sad," she said. "I just want to take them inside and sit them by the fire." "Well," he answered, throwing his jacket over the shoulders of the abstract bronze man, "why can't we?"
--Julie, Patti, Christie, and Lynn
Through the torture of the crowds, she still believed peeing in that 0,50 euro stall was life-changing.
It's like I'm a shark, and you're the reason I can't stop moving. It'd be easier without you, but I wouldn't be who I am.
Melanie had never learned how to mend a heart, but she knew fifty different ways to break a window. For now, this was enough.
with every step she took her mind screamed 'fuck it fuck it fuck it' but she couldn't help but imagine that gorgeous climax.
And as spring blossomed into summer drifted into autumn solidified into winter melted into spring once again, she pondered how long all of it took and how short-lived it was anyway.
The red plastic cup that once held chocolate milk and now held beer fell off the table as she watched the boy dive for the pool cue and crash into the floor. She wondered if, maybe, they had had more fun back then.
it was only when his chocolate-coated drops of hair smashed against the window that she wondered if there was something wrong.
She wasn't sure if it was the chocolate or the milk that tasted funny, but for some reason the hot cocoa in her current country was different than the one back home. Three sips in an she realized- there were no mini marshmellows.
her biology teacher said that people ate chocolate as an attempt to compensate for low endorphin levels. what her teacher didn't know was that her brain chemistry was too far beyond the reaches of chocolate to save.
as she curved her body into the crevice of the discarded tree trunk, the wisps of coiled seductively around the incline of her neck and highlighted her ashen-gray face with the haunting melody of something lost.
like a thrash of theives they marched in their black-outlined-red coats and together they banded together even though one by one they fell to the cold.
as eyes met eyes and he noticed those stone tracks of tears down his face, and the ghosted-expressions hidden by the foot of the bed, he knew that one of them wouldn't be coming back any time soon.
The world is full of ghosts, you see. Most people just like to call them memories nowadays.
"Momma, how do they make the cheese slices the same size?" "The same way you make dreams, dear. By machine."
"You're a big girl now; you can handle sleeping with the lights off." "I know, mom, but what if the monsters are still scared of the dark?"
In the end it was just a rock engraved in metal; in the end it was just another abandoned dream; but in the beginning it was a marriage.
Have you ever noticed how much worse things sound when they have forever tagged to the end? We'll be friends...forever; it'll be peaceful...forever; she's dead...forever.
Whose idea was it, I wonder, that stories can never be real life?
"And this is the button you press in case anything ever seems important." "But what if it nothing ever does?" "Then welcome to sales."
one day, your child will tug at your elbow and ask you how babies are made, and you'll say that a computer took mommy and daddy's genes and mixed them together perfectly and out came your baby, and it will all be true.
"ba-dum-kshh," sang the percussionist, right on cue. but this time, nothing was funny anymore.
the only things he broke better than jawbones were promises.
it started with a clumsy pinky-promise and ended with a slender wedding band. oh, how times have changed.
"He proposed on the swingset." "Aww, back in kindergarten?" "No, just last Saturday."
It was sad but it was true; his hand was the only woman that had never left him.
And as he walked down the wide-open tunnel he realized that he had smoked all his tomorrows and left only the used wrappers of yesterdays still faint from the leaves' burnt perfume.
"I don't think you understand, honey," he said laughing into his coffee at my wide-eyed confusion. "We're writers. We write our way into the grave."
"What does a mirror look like when there's nothing reflected on it?" "I'm not sure. What does a human look like when there's nothing reflected on it?"
It remembered everything that had ever happened. Quite clearly, in fact. But when it laid down to rest it all happened again.
"These statues in the rain always make me sad," she said. "I just want to take them inside and sit them by the fire." "Well," he answered, throwing his jacket over the shoulders of the abstract bronze man, "why can't we?"
--Julie, Patti, Christie, and Lynn
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