Prose- A Memory (Better Than it Was)
I haven't posted much writing lately. It's kind of really odd. I guess I've been doing mostly academic writings for school... meh. I shall have to change that.
This is a piece about a memory of mine involving my crush back when he was actually decent. I wrote it for linebyline, with the line being "better than it was", but the version you see here is extended from the version I have on the community.
A Memory (Better Than it Was)
The sunlight shone down softly, delicately, over the scene. A cool wind blew, whispering through the trees, a promise of things to come. The sky was the most perfect shade of blue, somewhere between a baby boy's blanket and the Chargers' jersey color.
We walked along, the stones in the concrete shining like gems, the asphalt of the road as smooth and as glistening as a calm lake. Our words were poetry, blending and building off of each other to form something beautiful. Our steps were melodies, in time and in tune like the greatest of symphonies.
The grass was soft and lush when we sat down, a velvet carpet of green for me to lounge on, almost as if I were royalty. I felt like royalty; the attention you lavished on me caressing me like waves in the sea. You snuggled close, sweetly, and I never wanted the moment to end.
Of course, my memory of it makes it better than it was. Romantic that I am, I've romanticized thay day, that one haphazard awkward date that shouldn't have been. Because, the sunlight was blinding in reality, making me squint uncomfortably and miss all the beauty around me. I don't think there even was wind that day, much less one the whispered sweet nothings like you should have. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, but its perfection trancends words; the thing I enjoyed most that day was admiring the sky.
We walked much too fast, encumbered by heavy packs and bags, reminders of the school we had just left. We walked much too far, too, and I got nervous about crossing the road as much as you seemed to want to. So the "symphony" was more of a cacophony. Our conversation was awkward and forced, like rhyming poetry written by someone with no sense of rhytm. The asphalt was in disrepair, cracked in places, or else covered by cars, preventing me seeing it anyhow.
The grass was sharp, almost painful to sit on, really. It poked and prodded uncomfortably. Your attention was directed at me, true, but like the overwhelming, crashing waves of a storm; you were much too forward, and it was awkward and uncomfortable. I kept moving away, until I was sitting on the roots of the tree and getting bruises on my backside. And, I was dying for that moment to end and be forgotten.
My memory makes the day seem much better than it was. I've stopped romanticizing it; the gesture is wasted on you. As the memory is twisted, colored in the harsh tones of reality I'd been trying so hard keep out of my palate. But now I've embraced them, they will make my life the most beautiful masterpiece ever painted.
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Woo for imagery, and metaphors! Have you ever noticed most of my imagery, not just in this peice but in many others, realtes to art? I wonder why that is?
This is a piece about a memory of mine involving my crush back when he was actually decent. I wrote it for linebyline, with the line being "better than it was", but the version you see here is extended from the version I have on the community.
A Memory (Better Than it Was)
The sunlight shone down softly, delicately, over the scene. A cool wind blew, whispering through the trees, a promise of things to come. The sky was the most perfect shade of blue, somewhere between a baby boy's blanket and the Chargers' jersey color.
We walked along, the stones in the concrete shining like gems, the asphalt of the road as smooth and as glistening as a calm lake. Our words were poetry, blending and building off of each other to form something beautiful. Our steps were melodies, in time and in tune like the greatest of symphonies.
The grass was soft and lush when we sat down, a velvet carpet of green for me to lounge on, almost as if I were royalty. I felt like royalty; the attention you lavished on me caressing me like waves in the sea. You snuggled close, sweetly, and I never wanted the moment to end.
Of course, my memory of it makes it better than it was. Romantic that I am, I've romanticized thay day, that one haphazard awkward date that shouldn't have been. Because, the sunlight was blinding in reality, making me squint uncomfortably and miss all the beauty around me. I don't think there even was wind that day, much less one the whispered sweet nothings like you should have. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, but its perfection trancends words; the thing I enjoyed most that day was admiring the sky.
We walked much too fast, encumbered by heavy packs and bags, reminders of the school we had just left. We walked much too far, too, and I got nervous about crossing the road as much as you seemed to want to. So the "symphony" was more of a cacophony. Our conversation was awkward and forced, like rhyming poetry written by someone with no sense of rhytm. The asphalt was in disrepair, cracked in places, or else covered by cars, preventing me seeing it anyhow.
The grass was sharp, almost painful to sit on, really. It poked and prodded uncomfortably. Your attention was directed at me, true, but like the overwhelming, crashing waves of a storm; you were much too forward, and it was awkward and uncomfortable. I kept moving away, until I was sitting on the roots of the tree and getting bruises on my backside. And, I was dying for that moment to end and be forgotten.
My memory makes the day seem much better than it was. I've stopped romanticizing it; the gesture is wasted on you. As the memory is twisted, colored in the harsh tones of reality I'd been trying so hard keep out of my palate. But now I've embraced them, they will make my life the most beautiful masterpiece ever painted.
--------
Woo for imagery, and metaphors! Have you ever noticed most of my imagery, not just in this peice but in many others, realtes to art? I wonder why that is?