Surrendered Equilibrium by HeartSweet7, literature
Literature
Surrendered Equilibrium
Sometimes I'm afraid that if I laugh too loudly or love too hard I may trip and fall off of the looming edge of the earth, into an abyss that doesn't exist.
Maybe that abyss is purgatorythose who are too wanton are prone to falling into this great chasm, condemned to exist in a state of simultaneous terror and apathy, forever falling within a darkness that is so deep your ears ache and your wide-open, unseeing eyes want to bleed.
There is something inexplicably beautiful and completely taken for granted that gravity provides: the absolute reliablility that when you fall, you will hit the ground. Th
Surrendered Equilibrium by HeartSweet7, literature
Literature
Surrendered Equilibrium
Sometimes I'm afraid that if I laugh too loudly or love too hard I may trip and fall off of the looming edge of the earth, into an abyss that doesn't exist.
Maybe that abyss is purgatorythose who are too wanton are prone to falling into this great chasm, condemned to exist in a state of simultaneous terror and apathy, forever falling within a darkness that is so deep your ears ache and your wide-open, unseeing eyes want to bleed.
There is something inexplicably beautiful and completely taken for granted that gravity provides: the absolute reliablility that when you fall, you will hit the ground. Th
I remember sleeping in the bed we shared.
Was it wrong?
I remember him always holding me in his arms.
Isn't that what you do with those you love?
I remember mom finding out.
Why did she cry so much?
I remember him looking away.
Couldn't he meet her gaze?
I remember asking him if something was wrong.
Had we done something bad?
I remember him wrapping his arms around me.
Wasn't it supposed to feel this way?
I remember him keeping his voice soft and quiet.
Did he whisper so as not to let mom hear?
I remember him saying he had to leave.
Where did he have to go?
I remember saying goodbye.
Were those tears for me?
I remember not s
It's terrible what I did, and I know that. I should have just returned the book to her. Steal a girl's diary and watch the processes of her brain work in snapshots. You'll catch glimpses of her lifesee the most intimate relationship someone can have with their memory. I read her diary from beginning to endfrom the sunrise of her thoughts to that recurring dream she had last night, the one where she kept waking up only to find she was still dreaming.
She limits how much of herself she'll expose to someone. It's like her eyes specifically go to her