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Literature Text
his father smelt like office papers, faint notes of cologne, and the generation gap. like loss, grief, and he never got a chance to know you.
his mother smelt like the family dog, flowers, and unrequited love. like cookies, warmth, and understanding is not the same as caring.
his ex-girlfriend smelt like sugar, strawberries, and a silent bomb. like chaste kisses, intertwined fingers, and we just don't fit together.
his best friend smelt like unconditional loyalty, determination, and good-naturedness. like strength, vulnerability, and you've got my back, i've got yours.
you smelt like fresh spring rain, hope, and disappointment. like need, want, and please don't leave me.
one year later, he stands in front of the gravestone, and all he can smell is marble, dust, and the stagnant beat of his heart.
his mother smelt like the family dog, flowers, and unrequited love. like cookies, warmth, and understanding is not the same as caring.
one year later, he holds his mother's hand in his, and he smells baby shampoo, true smiles, and love-that-never-left.
his ex-girlfriend smelt like sugar, strawberries, and a silent bomb. like chaste kisses, intertwined fingers, and we just don't fit together.
one year later, he bumps into her at the store, and a good whiff of her hits him, like youth, memories, and tugs on hearts.
his best friend smelt like unconditional loyalty, determination, and good-naturedness. like strength, vulnerability, and you've got my back, i've got yours.
one year later, they're sprawled on the grass looking up at the sky, and he gets a hint of faith, support, and belief.
you smelt like fresh spring rain, hope, and disappointment. like need, want, and please don't leave me.
one year later, he's found knee deep in his closet, fingers tight around an old shirt of yours, and he puts it to his nose. he breathes slow and deep, but all he can smell are salty tears, crumbled resolves, and regrets.
Literature
Confabulation
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
Literature
unfinished thoughts
i.
wake up. i can't stay long.
we are a series of fleeting moments that spell out "bad timing" and "tragic romance". you are broken machinery and i am still trying to decipher the binary code for love. ones and zeros collide into a lump in my throat and suddenly, the idea of saying goodbye makes my fingertips ache and my wrists burn.
ii.
do you remember when we kissed? it was a messy pile of metaphors and we were scared that somebody would see us and try to clean us up. i still ghost the back of my hand over my lips and imagine that it's yours, but then i remember that "yours" and "mine" are not words that apply to you and me anymore.
ii
Literature
Undelivered
or:
how to write to peter
i. sprinkle pixie dust on
one feather of a whisper
ii. blow a kiss to nudge
the dictations of your heart
from a fourth-story windowsill
iii. crawl (sloth-toed) onto the roof
& stretch your third eye
to watch your letter cross state lines
iv. shiver restlessly until
v. suddenly!
vi. you feel your feather of a whisper
nestle in his concave
mailbox:
the space where his left collarbone meets his neck strings
"if i were you i would want me back"
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written for #theWrittenRevolution's contest which can be found here: [link]
result: prose runner-up.
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comments/opinions/faves?
result: prose runner-up.
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comments/opinions/faves?
© 2010 - 2024 electrickiss
Comments32
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Very nice.