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Amanda Westbrook. 19. West Palm Beach, FL. All I want is the sea.

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When morning breaks and we go our separate ways for the day ahead of us, I take solace in the fact that you will be back in my arms by nightfall.

Heavy eyelids swim the streets of the world, tempting sleep during busy afternoons.

You live in the walls
Of this place that was once ours
I’ve tried to decorate the space with art and posters but you still shine through the cracks I can’t cover.

Your breath caught in time
But your words cut through the air
I fell to pieces

You have a blue heart
It could be like the ocean
Instead it is ill

I know life is different now, but please live on.

-ten word story

It would be absolutely stupid of me to ignore facts that are stored in tiny compartments scattered all throughout my brain. It would be highly illogical not to fear them. I have yet to decide what I can live with and what I still need to separate myself from.
Whenever I think too deeply on matters as flimsy in life as fears and facts, and fear of the facts, I get sleepy and angry.
I can tell you, it’s important. It holds weight on a superficial level and I am barely twenty. I can’t say I don’t put myself first and foremost because I’m a selfish being. I have had to take care of no one except myself and it’s a hard adjustment.
But perhaps, like in a video game, after so many levels, I’ll unlock a certain achievement that only comes after turmoil, after a twist in the game, or even a high-casualty battle. Hopefully I will understand these matters and push them aside. I will be able to separate. Or better yet, I won’t even think of them.

It’s odd that for every prick we encounter, we don’t have more roses.

She wore the party hat that claimed it was her birthday. She paraded around like the day belonged to her. And it did. All night, she clutched that Jack Daniels bottle to her chest. She went home with him and cried in his shower, sitting down. He cradled her to his bare chest and asked her why she cried. “My mom left me, my mom left me.”

Fastening my eyes to that meager glint of light, it slowly extinguished in the fragmentary rainfall. Slowly, until all at once it just sizzled out of view, my eyes became taps, confident that the rain could not win this contest. 

Naïve

octoberwood:

it was transparent and thin
unsustainable, hazardous.
a fledgling flies into a window
as a flock of geese migrate south.
i will try my best to illustrate the miles,
voice heavy with suffocated sorrow.
the sky a periwinkle-and-pearl canvas.
tree branches bend under the weight of snow,
creak creak creak.
icicle tears forming under rooftops,
three a.m. salt-and-palm confessions:
i don’t know why i’m upset about this.
empty. forget it. void. forget it.


(via octoberwood)

Slumping over the toilet
Is her usual spot in the morning lately
She has wine occasionally and maybe too much this time around
But it has been weeks since her last drop
She suspects something more sinister
As she places her sweaty palm to her lower abdomen
She cries and let’s her heavy fist find the smooth tile floor
It was never a question, just a simple statement she had been avoiding
Lifting her limp body in front of the mirror, she wipes the corner of her mouth with her sleeve
Now not so much a simple statement, but a complex decision awaits

We are old now and we’re laughing and dancing on a front porch in a town where our only neighbor is the sea. The wooden boards creak under our weight and I appreciate their support on such a blissful summer afternoon.
I have never been the graceful ballerina I dreamed of being when I was younger, but I did find Prince Charming, who of course leads me through the music with ease. I still trip over my feet at every swirl and back step, but we giggle at my clumsiness.
The breeze sticks on my tongue and it tastes of sea salt and your cigarette smoke.
We’re younger again when I shake myself from my idle thoughts and I realize you have been staring into my withdrawn eyes for who knows how long.
Slipping back to reality, I cup the side of your face in the palm of my hand and I don’t know what the future holds, but my god, I want that peaceful place with you.

Difficulties arise when I’m mad and I laugh to keep from crying and ultimately, I undermine the seriousness of the situation.
Waterworks ensue the second I’m by myself.

I’m a writer, I’m supposed to be miserable anyways.