The wall of love separates me from the world.
At least, supposed love.
They try to “protect” me. They are angered when I try to reach my little fingers out the forming cracks. They quickly try to fill the cracks. I want out. To find more.
They had come to a stop at the place where the names had been worn. The only letters left on the wall suggested men and women from some other place. Strings of consonants suggesting sounds foreign to their own tongues.
I stared at the wall expecting it to transform into a multitude of color and shapes. I was sadly disappointed when, after some time, I looked back only to see that it was still, indeed, a wall.
She stared into a tiny hole in the wall. The hole was neither extremely large, nor very small. It was about the size of her skinny index finger. Of course, she did what anyone would do. She stuck her finger in, but as soon as she did she felt something wet and slimy on her finger. She tried to pull it out but no matter how hard she pulled it was stuck. She writhed her finger around and the painter yelped on the other side of the wall.
The pit walls had helped to shade him but through the trees on ground level, the mid-day sun was burning his newly formed flesh. Echoes started whispering in the back of his mind, slowly the connections that had not long been broken were being sown back into they’re original places.
White panels. Boring. Closed in. Walls that talk slowly over time. Pressing matters. Hard. Lonely. Rough patches. Switches on and off. Light woven shadows dance across the easel.
Walking out the doors, it felt like I crossed through some invisible wall. I knew I shouldn’t have been proud of my small achievement, but I was. I knew “is” was a verb unlike the kid beside me, and for some reason, it made confidence run through my veins. When the professor asked me to answer questions; when the girl to my right said I was smart for knowing about the uselessness of prepositional phrases. It was absurd, and it was meaningless, but I let it straighten my spine anyway. For now, I’d let this victory shine over my body.
The wall of love separates me from the world.
At least, supposed love.
They try to “protect” me. They are angered when I try to reach my little fingers out the forming cracks. They quickly try to fill the cracks. I want out. To find more.
They had come to a stop at the place where the names had been worn. The only letters left on the wall suggested men and women from some other place. Strings of consonants suggesting sounds foreign to their own tongues.
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
WALL-E
I arrive at this wall again.
Standing. Waiting. Watching.
Fuck.
I stared at the wall expecting it to transform into a multitude of color and shapes. I was sadly disappointed when, after some time, I looked back only to see that it was still, indeed, a wall.
She stared into a tiny hole in the wall. The hole was neither extremely large, nor very small. It was about the size of her skinny index finger. Of course, she did what anyone would do. She stuck her finger in, but as soon as she did she felt something wet and slimy on her finger. She tried to pull it out but no matter how hard she pulled it was stuck. She writhed her finger around and the painter yelped on the other side of the wall.
The pit walls had helped to shade him but through the trees on ground level, the mid-day sun was burning his newly formed flesh. Echoes started whispering in the back of his mind, slowly the connections that had not long been broken were being sown back into they’re original places.
White panels. Boring. Closed in. Walls that talk slowly over time. Pressing matters. Hard. Lonely. Rough patches. Switches on and off. Light woven shadows dance across the easel.
no one sings about wallflowers
and no one dances with streamers
strobe lights had their own little world
we shoudn’t have met, yet here we are
on the floor.
Barrier, something foreign, something to conquer and overcome. Wall, something that will try to stop me but can’t, but won’t
I camae upon the wall and looked up. I took my time to climb up it to see what was on the other side and saw that it continued up higher and higher.
Walking out the doors, it felt like I crossed through some invisible wall. I knew I shouldn’t have been proud of my small achievement, but I was. I knew “is” was a verb unlike the kid beside me, and for some reason, it made confidence run through my veins. When the professor asked me to answer questions; when the girl to my right said I was smart for knowing about the uselessness of prepositional phrases. It was absurd, and it was meaningless, but I let it straighten my spine anyway. For now, I’d let this victory shine over my body.