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Literature Text
Perhaps it was the way her delicate crystals would soak and shudder as they touched the earth. The first few times the flakes fell they would wither and die, but they were laying a foundation for the ones to follow. Maybe it was her hushed movements that could bring the busiest streets to a standstill. Each snowflake formed piles of white petals on windshields as the storm carried on. Maybe it was how she would string subtle wreaths along windowsills by the break of dawn. Or it could have been how, even in a frosted rage, her beauty shone through to him.
Winter shifts in his seat, causing a small blanket of cold air to sweep across part of the world. The people feel a sudden chill, but shrug it off. Winter takes his time as he thinks, recalling how she would bleach branches with her soft touch. He remembers how the moon would sing, jealous notes tinting her song, as snow fell. Assembling snowflakes high in the air, she would place each one with a careful hand to the ground below. She would hide a subtle smile behind icicles as the moon sang.
As he sits in thought he feels her presence, the snow of her dress sinking into the clouds. She sits next to him and smiles. With ice shining against her fingertips, she touches his hand. Winter shivers.
And he thinks, perhaps, he does not need to remember quite yet.
Winter shifts in his seat, causing a small blanket of cold air to sweep across part of the world. The people feel a sudden chill, but shrug it off. Winter takes his time as he thinks, recalling how she would bleach branches with her soft touch. He remembers how the moon would sing, jealous notes tinting her song, as snow fell. Assembling snowflakes high in the air, she would place each one with a careful hand to the ground below. She would hide a subtle smile behind icicles as the moon sang.
As he sits in thought he feels her presence, the snow of her dress sinking into the clouds. She sits next to him and smiles. With ice shining against her fingertips, she touches his hand. Winter shivers.
And he thinks, perhaps, he does not need to remember quite yet.
Literature
what to do when he doesn't say it back
a)
you will give all of yourself to a boy who won't know you at all.
he will recycle your parts, make you stationary, bind you into
paper that he will gift back so you can write poetry about him.
you, too, say i love you quickly.
when he doesn't say it back, evaporate.
b)
he will kiss you in places you didn't know existed.
until him, you were a peasant in your body's palace.
he crowned you princess, broke the lock of your castle's gates.
when he doesn't say it back, load your cannons.
c)
you are a fountain pen.
look him in the eye when you write him letters on your skin.
when he asks to read them, surrender.
you have always be
Literature
northern nights
we'd lie in the snow
and he'd ask me if i knew what the northern
lights were made of --
of course i did. i'd start spewing science
and he'd sigh, real deep,
before taking my hand
and pointing my fingers to the sky.
no, he'd say, what they're really made of,
when real wasn't real, but whatever
he thought up in his head --
whatever he could dream the night before
as he slept among the nighthawks.
no, i'd say, what are they really made of?
when real was really just
the smile on his face
as he made up concoctions
he wouldn't remember tomorrow --
he would laugh and call me child
and say oh how much you need to learn,
my love, before spinn
Literature
on seeking solace in strangers
And she felt like home
her arms gave
way to the sand
castle of her
chest,
she was
inexplicable
and
obscene
and
vulgar
and
i loved her for it
i knew
she was a dragon
of a girl
even with
charcoal creases
beneath her eyes
and smudged
vowels
l
e
a
k
i
n
g
from the corners
of her lips
like a faulty tap
to me she was beautiful
like those obscure
lapses in time
at 3.25 AM
with her legs
stretched across the
window sill
smoking my cigarettes
as she let her words
fold themselves
into the quiet
s p a c e s
around us
she still sparkled
with this rebellious
twinkle in her eyes
and
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Full Title: Winter tires to remember how he first fell in love with Snow.
Something cute just because. I missed writing, hopefully I'll be doing more of it over the next few weeks. Also, I might write about the other seasons.
Something cute just because. I missed writing, hopefully I'll be doing more of it over the next few weeks. Also, I might write about the other seasons.
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Comments51
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Very enchanting indeed. I particularly enjoyed how your personification of winter was employed throughout the text. The usage of 'perhaps' and 'maybe' in the first paragraph really help set the tone for winter's attempt to remember. Overall a scintillating read.