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Literature Text
You were never meant for me.
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin – a quiet and humble confidence – while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me – but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself build a forever with you. I swear the world could end, and I wouldn't even notice – that's how self involved I am. I still can't remember how our story went, but I can't forget the way it felt. This is what it's like living in reverse. This is what you would call a relapse even though we both know it was completely unavoidable.
I still haven't learned a thing. I still believe in happily-ever-afters, and every time I see something that reminds me of you, my breath still catches in lungs, and I still say I'm lost even after you told me I couldn't be, since I never know where I'm going to begin with. You liked me hopeless and sad, because it gave you someone to take care of. I liked you, because you were better than me, but eventually, this was the sort of equation that we never could add up. I'm beginning to see that I wrote us a better story, because I could live with a lie better than I could deal with fixing the truth. Not much bothers me anymore, but I still wonder when love will ever be enough and whether anyone is really meant for anything anymore. You would tell me to keep trying, but I'm already wondering how I wasted another year on you.
You will never be meant for me. I knew this. I know this.
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin – a quiet and humble confidence – while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me – but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself build a forever with you. I swear the world could end, and I wouldn't even notice – that's how self involved I am. I still can't remember how our story went, but I can't forget the way it felt. This is what it's like living in reverse. This is what you would call a relapse even though we both know it was completely unavoidable.
I still haven't learned a thing. I still believe in happily-ever-afters, and every time I see something that reminds me of you, my breath still catches in lungs, and I still say I'm lost even after you told me I couldn't be, since I never know where I'm going to begin with. You liked me hopeless and sad, because it gave you someone to take care of. I liked you, because you were better than me, but eventually, this was the sort of equation that we never could add up. I'm beginning to see that I wrote us a better story, because I could live with a lie better than I could deal with fixing the truth. Not much bothers me anymore, but I still wonder when love will ever be enough and whether anyone is really meant for anything anymore. You would tell me to keep trying, but I'm already wondering how I wasted another year on you.
You will never be meant for me. I knew this. I know this.
Literature
I tried
I tried to count my scars,
But I couldn't tell
Where one began
And another ended.
So I tried to count the cuts,
But I couldn't, because
Blood smeared across my skin,
Connecting them like a thin,
Red veil of pain.
And so I cried.
I cried a single tear, because
When I need to cry,
I can't.
Finally, I sat down,
And put pen to paper,
Or fingers to keys.
And tried to write my emotions.
But I couldn't, because
I don't know how to tell the world
What I feel like,
When I have no right.
I looked from the blood stained tissues,
Across my torn body,
Into my own eyes, reflected perfectly by the mirror before me.
Another tear was p
Literature
My Inspiration
You once asked me what inspired me, sweet love;
And I shall tell what you want to hear...
It is a girl who isn't clever, but clever in what she knows
and a lost boy who knows exactly where he is going to go.
It is the scent of cologne and smoke and lovemaking
and a man who wears his heart on his sleeve
It is a woman who has always believed in her lover
and he will let her down no more
It is a sick man who is whole again
and the wife who stayed by his side
It is a writer who has found a brand new muse
and the paint of the artist who draws her lover
It is the words of a poet whose trust is renewed
and the warmth in the words of the
Literature
I Hate That I Love You
I hate that you're my every thought
That I wake with you on my mind
And fall asleep
To images of your smile
I hate that I adore you so
With gorgeous eyes
And sweet lips
I long to taste
I hate the way you make me feel
Like I need you to survive
As if breathing without you
Is excruciating
I hate that I yearn for you
I hunger for your touch
Every moment
Of every day
I hate the way I love you
With every beat
Of my wretched heart
That loving you keeps me alive
Yet keeps me alone
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I favorited this a long time ago, but i just wanted to come back and tell you that i really love this piece.
It's beautiful.
I chose this and declaimed it for my ELA class last month. I was nervous and stumbled a lot, but even now I still remember every line.
It's beautiful.
I chose this and declaimed it for my ELA class last month. I was nervous and stumbled a lot, but even now I still remember every line.