everchangingstories

Sometimes I wonder if you ever want to write about me, The way I do about you. I wonder If you want to let words flow Forming streams and rushing rivers Words you are too afraid to say I wonder If those songs you listen to late at night remind you of me, Or if you post them for others to see. I wonder What sort of thoughts fill you head? Do you dream of futures with white picket fences, Two kids, And a dog? (Or a cat, I know you much prefer them) Or maybe An apartment, Or a small house in a small neighbourhood. I wonder where I fit in, Where you want to be, Why you picked me. Do you aspire to be great? Or do you want to hide what you can be?

Age Ten:  It Began. Am I good enough?                  Is this right? What about this sentence?                  What should this be about? Can you read it over?                  Is there any way I can bring my grade up? Are you sure you love me?                  I'm not good enough for this. There's no way I could win anything.                  This application is useless. Can I read your texts?                  Please don't hang out with her. Three months, They gave me. Three months to talk, to get better. He spoke kind works, He told me how to lessen it. It never worked. Only one soul believed me, Trusted me. But no one could cha

Please She cried Her voice sharp Her hand holds yours, Don't go, I swear, I won't give up on us.

He holds your hand in his, and you smile. He grins, and you follow suit     (can't let him see the cracks) You wish and wait, Your voice locked, and you've lost the key. He kisses your forehead- and everything e v e r y t h i n g feels right. His arms, his lips, his smell. You speak, he listens. And then the pattern continues.

Long hours of sunlight hold no end in sight, Waiting, watching, wondering. Soon the sky will be filled- Reds, yellows, purples, and more- A rainbow of light. A little girl sits in your arms, No more than two years old, And she watches in wonder, in love, An entirely new sight to be seen. The booms go off, the lights flicker out- Crickle, crickle- But she points and smiles, Reminding you of yourself.

Afraid, babe, causing distressed emotions. Friday games have injured, jaded. Killing lights may never obstruct people, quietly resting, shallow thoughts under various walls, xeroxing your zits.

Learned to Love Again, A Two Faced Knight Rose Again It's The Cream Puff Heist.