Please Remember Me

I remember when you used to hold my hand as we raced through fields of clovers and wildflowers. I remember how the smell of spring mixed perfectly with the strong scent of your mother's laundry detergent. I remember how your had more freckles than clear skin across your nose and the way your auburn hair shimmered like copper in the March sunlight.

Do you remember the lake in the woods behind your mum's cabin? You would take me there every spring, just as everything was blooming, even though both of us would be sneezing for days after. We'd strip down to just our undershorts and swim in the lake. I was always amazed at how cold the water was with how warm it was outside.

No, of course you don't remember. That's why I'm telling you.

Emma, January 11, 2012

2 am
Running through the hotel without shoes
Hushed giggles, narrowly avoiding security and curfew
Zombie survival 101 is full, so we have cereal instead.
We akwardly smile, waiting for our friend to introduce us
And we end up doing it ourselves.
With fake names.

(Trans)cript, January 11, 2012

Most people have to hide when they're in public.
But I have to hide when I'm at home.

March 13, 2012

She spent her whole life reading about fairies and fey of all kinds. She read stories about good fairies and bad fairies, humans becoming fairies and fairies becoming humans, and fairies of the Winter Court and fairies of the Summer Court. She spent countless hours drawing all sorts of fairies on every scrap of paper she could get her hands on. In her dreams, they came to her. She danced with the fey, ate with the fey, sometimes she was even believed she was one of them.

Her father feared her obsession. He took away her books, kept her from the libraries, even took away her drawings. When even that did not stop her following her passion, he sent her away to a strict boarding school. Here, she was told she must only focus on her studies. She was often punished for talking of these fictions with other students or drawing fairies on her school work.

Cigarettes, written April 12, 2012

He flicked it one, two, three times before the ash fell off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.

It was his stress reliever. There was no addiction, no needing one just to need one. He needed it to keep the shaking and bad thoughts at bay. It helped him concentrate on keeping a clear head when it got too bad. He could go weeks without needing one. Sometimes he did. But there were days where he smoked a whole box, if not more.

He flicked it one, two, three times to knock the ash off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.

Obligatory Intro Post

This isn't a blog. I'm going to start by saying that. I won't be blogging about my life or anything here. This is just a place for me to collect, and occasionally show off, the things I write, whether they be original or whatever. Now, that's not to say there won't be life stories here. I wrote those occasionally, too. But I have an actual blog, and I'm keeping all of that separate. (That means if you have the pleasure of knowing of this AND my blog, you will not tell others, please. I would very much like to keep things separated for now).

I may occasionally post things that aren't writing, like photography and whathaveyou.