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Literature Text
did you know:
we were perfect?
like the movies, the
overly romantic ones,
the sickly romantic ones,
the ones that you get
dragged into, the ones that
you fall in love with.
like the rain. falling things have
this odd kind of beauty;
this odd kind of
hope.
the thunder crashes, and suddenly,
the romantic couple is crying,
and the ending isn’t happy
anymore, and the only thing
on your mind is that
this was not supposed to happen.
we were perfect?
like the movies, the
overly romantic ones,
the sickly romantic ones,
the ones that you get
dragged into, the ones that
you fall in love with.
like the rain. falling things have
this odd kind of beauty;
this odd kind of
hope.
the thunder crashes, and suddenly,
the romantic couple is crying,
and the ending isn’t happy
anymore, and the only thing
on your mind is that
this was not supposed to happen.
Literature
butterflies.
- 1
summer always reminded me of warm concrete, green apples, and air conditioned malls. it reminded me of how good your arm felt around me, and that i used to count the butterflies in my stomach.
(i woke up one morning, dream hazy and happy, and they appeared.
i blame you.)
snow fell from the sky the day my heart turned into ice. i hated winter; i hated the cold and the wonderland outside my window more than i hated that i still thought about you.
but just when snowflakes sprinkled over me twice, and i thought i had become cured,
the butterflies came back.
- 2
dial tones and sunsets fading into night
were the evidence of
Literature
perennial
i.
if i had better recollection i would remember sticky summer
skin against my fingertips and hipbones; your smile was
never so large as when we caught fireflies and fell asleep
intertwined beneath all the stars of the milky way sky
ii.
there were times in autumn that you took my hands and
shared your gloves before sharing a kiss; we stumbled
through fallen leaves and all the things we could not say
with lingering gazes and smiles over backyard bonfires
iii.
i lost the winter moments when you stole my breath in
visible gasps and pressed your lips against mine so they
would not chap; we were snow angels writing on the
ground but
Literature
1. Introduction
Dear World,
I am made of glossed-
over lies and moth-eaten
paintings. I am built of
broken paper cups and
repainted false walls and
you can't know me because
I won't let you.
--
Dear World,
I have insignificant worries
and unsorted feelings that
knot my insides. I have
tangled thoughts stuck on
infinite repeat. I have poor
articulation and I just can't
seem to focus.
--
Dear World,
We are not the same, you
and I. We are not alike and
I wish you would stop trying
to package me because I am
not a perfect square and I
will never fit.
--
Dear World,
You can't fix everything.
--
Dear World,
I don't understand what's
Suggested Collections
perfect never turns out right.
© 2008 - 2024 Amertie
Comments15
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"perfect never turns out right."
That line is so amazing.
That line is so amazing.