Touch this...Kiss That...Goodnight
Part 1 of....Something
She sits down. Not anywhere special, though she feels as if she is in a world so different from our own. She sits. She licks her lips and tastes the bitterness of her strawberry lip gloss. Uneasiness flows through her veins, to her fingertips, her toes and the tip of her tongue. Her tongue. She lifts the drink to her mouth and sips a little from the edge, kissing it lightly with the tip of her tongue. Sour. She gulps the blue liquid, awaiting its burn as it falls down her throat. She squints her eyes and falls backwards. Blank. Nothing. She is gone. But why?
(Transfer from Blogspot)
What was her name?
Whose...whose name? Oh her...I don't remember. She was never that important.
She lived a life that consisted of fairy tales, peach flavored gum and bubble tea. She had a fascination with bows...the pink kind. Her hair was long, with wave after wave of curls. But she was dark. No...not the color of her skin, though it was a rich mocha. Her aura was dark. Unforgivable. And sad. Her smile was the complete opposite of her beautiful tastes for bow embellished dresses and silver studded jewelry that dangled from her ears, her naval...and wrists.
What was her name....
I don't know. Her life was not mine, her mind was confusing. Love...death...and misunderstood kisses. She was no ones...but his. He wished that she was his.
He sat in the park. The trees were tall and masculine...the birds that chirped on their branches were sweet as ladies. The wind blew his dark hair away from his face uncovering stunning eyes. His eye lashes are long...beautiful...so beautiful. But they stared at nothing. He sat on the bench with a drink in his hand.
"I love you" he whispered into the breeze. The breeze carried his sensitive words far off into the distance, carrying it to whomever listens to the wind. If you listen carefully can you hear him?
Her name is...something we do not remember. No one remembers but him...him...
She sits down. Not anywhere special, though she feels as if she is in a world so different from our own. She sits. She licks her lips and tastes the bitterness of her strawberry lip gloss. Uneasiness flows through her veins, to her fingertips, her toes and the tip of her tongue. Her tongue. She lifts the drink to her mouth and sips a little from the edge, kissing it lightly with the tip of her tongue. Sour. She gulps the blue liquid, awaiting its burn as it falls down her throat. She squints her eyes and falls backwards. Blank. Nothing. She is gone. But why?
(Transfer from Blogspot)
What was her name?
Whose...whose name? Oh her...I don't remember. She was never that important.
She lived a life that consisted of fairy tales, peach flavored gum and bubble tea. She had a fascination with bows...the pink kind. Her hair was long, with wave after wave of curls. But she was dark. No...not the color of her skin, though it was a rich mocha. Her aura was dark. Unforgivable. And sad. Her smile was the complete opposite of her beautiful tastes for bow embellished dresses and silver studded jewelry that dangled from her ears, her naval...and wrists.
What was her name....
I don't know. Her life was not mine, her mind was confusing. Love...death...and misunderstood kisses. She was no ones...but his. He wished that she was his.
He sat in the park. The trees were tall and masculine...the birds that chirped on their branches were sweet as ladies. The wind blew his dark hair away from his face uncovering stunning eyes. His eye lashes are long...beautiful...so beautiful. But they stared at nothing. He sat on the bench with a drink in his hand.
"I love you" he whispered into the breeze. The breeze carried his sensitive words far off into the distance, carrying it to whomever listens to the wind. If you listen carefully can you hear him?
Her name is...something we do not remember. No one remembers but him...him...