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Literature Text
i remember how we'd go to the park.
the swings were rusty, remember? you were always the one pushing me in the autumn air, and i was always the one giddy with laughter. when we got tired, and our breaths came in shallow gasps, we'd go play games of hide and seek.
[your favorite hiding place was behind lies.]
sometimes i found you, crouched low to the ground smiling up at me. i was always scared that you wouldn't come out when i called 'i give up now.'
but you always gave yourself away to me, sometimes unwillingly.
[your deceptions were see-through, once i looked past the velvet curtains in your eyes]
.
i remember what missing you felt like.
it was like the music in my heart stopped playing. it was like i was pulling my hair out and biting my nails until they were bleeding and i was screaming, 'please come back, please come back.'
and when you did, i wished you hadn't.
this is how you managed to kill me, tearing pieces away from exactly the right places,
ripping, cutting, slashing my insides until i ran out of tears to cry. did you build your biting words just for me,
or were we just made for each other, like two halves of a whole?
[you already knew how to bruise my soul inside and out.]
.
we used to be laughter on the playground; the taste of wind when you're driving on the highway and your windows are rolled down; the warmth of holding hands and friendship.
now all we ever seem to be is out of time and out of luck.
and now i'm sitting on the swing, but it's winter, and i'm not laughing, and you're not pushing the swing.
i'm starting to wonder where you faded away to,
because when it was my turn to hide, you never came looking for me.
the swings were rusty, remember? you were always the one pushing me in the autumn air, and i was always the one giddy with laughter. when we got tired, and our breaths came in shallow gasps, we'd go play games of hide and seek.
[your favorite hiding place was behind lies.]
sometimes i found you, crouched low to the ground smiling up at me. i was always scared that you wouldn't come out when i called 'i give up now.'
but you always gave yourself away to me, sometimes unwillingly.
[your deceptions were see-through, once i looked past the velvet curtains in your eyes]
.
i remember what missing you felt like.
it was like the music in my heart stopped playing. it was like i was pulling my hair out and biting my nails until they were bleeding and i was screaming, 'please come back, please come back.'
and when you did, i wished you hadn't.
this is how you managed to kill me, tearing pieces away from exactly the right places,
ripping, cutting, slashing my insides until i ran out of tears to cry. did you build your biting words just for me,
or were we just made for each other, like two halves of a whole?
[you already knew how to bruise my soul inside and out.]
.
we used to be laughter on the playground; the taste of wind when you're driving on the highway and your windows are rolled down; the warmth of holding hands and friendship.
now all we ever seem to be is out of time and out of luck.
and now i'm sitting on the swing, but it's winter, and i'm not laughing, and you're not pushing the swing.
i'm starting to wonder where you faded away to,
because when it was my turn to hide, you never came looking for me.
Literature
living in your lies
dear girl
its like you dont even know you anymore. and when people talk about you, its almost as if you have no idea who theyre speaking about or whether any of what they say is true. its to the point where you started avoiding mirrors or catching your own eye in the reflection of windows, because you dont even recognize yourself anymore. maybe your hairs a mess and your clothes dont match, but at least you can keep pretending that youre not uncomfortable in your own skin. youve become a stranger and it scares you since youve always been most afraid of the things you don
Literature
nervosa.
an empty girl with
empty eyes
and a sandpaper
smile.
her meals never
stop
because they never
really
begin.
the mirror defies
her thin wrists
and ankles
and suddenly,
she's not hungry
anymore.
Literature
lie.
The word 'lie', in the English language, has over ten different meanings. Most of these meanings are similar and have to do with things like an object resting on a surface (often confused with the word lay which is the actual act of resting something on something else) or not speaking the truth when you should.
The word lie, in the language I speak, is ugly and awkward. It's a square inside a circle, purple on brown, a broken bottle of Jack Daniels in a field of fresh and smiling dandelions. It crunches under my feet and pokes up between my toes with sharp sounds and I hate it. I hate how it sounds.
lie verb (used without object)
to
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