creative writing
Because it's never easy.
I sit alone sometimes, and try and string together the proper words, hoping they'll sound eloquent and witty on the tip of my tongue (and so not cliche), but all I ever come up with are these convoluted sentences broken by too many pauses, and a sharp intake of breath - holding back what I really mean to say because I know deep down I really should just keep my mouth shut.
And maybe in the end all we'll ever have are awkward drunken nights and unfairly sober moments in crowded rooms with noisy people and quiet, meaningful glances. Simple emotions seem so intangible, worse than sand slipping through your dry palms, but like smoke floating whimsically in the air - taunting and untouchable, the way people are, the way you are, the way I wish I could be.
Your fingers twiddle together nervously, you stare around in the dark corners of this poorly lit room seemingly out of place - and those could be the simple things, the simple reasons that matter - but things between us were never simple - besides, though there isn't much of an 'us' to begin with, is there?
A night like this should be spent philosophically pondering about all my shortcomings and wondering what there is I could've done better - could possibly do better. I should worry more about school, about my relationships with my friends, about bettering myself for the lengthy road ahead that is senior year - but lately all I can think about are a few stolen words in a smoky room, and wondering if anything will ever come of these pathetically high hopes.
Like success, like contentment, and like the lights that shine so mockingly bright out in the distance - everything just seems so completely out of reach, including you.
I sit alone sometimes, and try and string together the proper words, hoping they'll sound eloquent and witty on the tip of my tongue (and so not cliche), but all I ever come up with are these convoluted sentences broken by too many pauses, and a sharp intake of breath - holding back what I really mean to say because I know deep down I really should just keep my mouth shut.
And maybe in the end all we'll ever have are awkward drunken nights and unfairly sober moments in crowded rooms with noisy people and quiet, meaningful glances. Simple emotions seem so intangible, worse than sand slipping through your dry palms, but like smoke floating whimsically in the air - taunting and untouchable, the way people are, the way you are, the way I wish I could be.
Your fingers twiddle together nervously, you stare around in the dark corners of this poorly lit room seemingly out of place - and those could be the simple things, the simple reasons that matter - but things between us were never simple - besides, though there isn't much of an 'us' to begin with, is there?
A night like this should be spent philosophically pondering about all my shortcomings and wondering what there is I could've done better - could possibly do better. I should worry more about school, about my relationships with my friends, about bettering myself for the lengthy road ahead that is senior year - but lately all I can think about are a few stolen words in a smoky room, and wondering if anything will ever come of these pathetically high hopes.
Like success, like contentment, and like the lights that shine so mockingly bright out in the distance - everything just seems so completely out of reach, including you.