Writing

and the pale pink is fading from the morning sky

the same way the words from the song i sang about you

under my misty-cold breath

died on my lips. i wonder if i would've waited forever,

For the first time... I went to the ocean...

I watch the waves moving in and out...

I feel the breeze blowing through my hair and against my skin...

I hear the laughter of the people around me...

They're always there when I need them,

they never run away.

They're always here when troubles stem

to hear what I have to say.

They don't judge 

or hold a grudge.

I have never been quite sure if books were truly just words on paper, the ideas of authors who are just ordinary people or if they are magic incarnate.  

Because they have never, ever just been words on paper to me. 

She walked out of her classroom, eyes scanning the walls. 

The desks, the hallways, the music room, the library. 

To some, these are just rooms or furniture. 

To her, they are everything. 

And now you come home at 12

Smeared mascara 

Red lipstick

Left with a sweet goodbye then 

Came back with sins you knew were sins in this