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How can you tell if love exists? How does it make itself known? You can’t drip it into a teaspoon. Measure it–see how much it fills, know it exists, know this person feels this odd, intangible emotion. There is no proof. You just have to cross your fingers and hope.
By Kat URL on 09.19.2013
They said it was a measure of a man. Bill’s feet hit the pavement, screen door slamming behind them. He couldn’t stand to see her face anymore, or hear the children’s laughter. He couldn’t be the provider, he couldn’t be strong. He didn’t want to think about their tears or the diapers. The toys or legos on the floor, the dishes in the sink and the sour milk in the fridge.
Emily was crying. The sound faded into the distance as he crossed the lawn.
His feet just needed to move.
By Fluidfyre URL on 09.19.2013
By any versitile measure,to believe that our souls are just the sum of our parts is akin to wearing scuba gear in a drought filled desert….just plain stupid.
By A False Terl URL on 09.19.2013
beat, time, and pulse,
something on the side of a cup, red lines
pouring flour, eggs, water and other
one for one or unequal….
By Saladin Thomas III URL on 09.19.2013
The stove dials said “LITE,” and I wondered at the misspelling. Was it foreign? From the time of my grandparents? I’d never used gas before and the way the flames leapt out in an ocean roar made me jump back, count the ways I was still alive.
By reem URL on 09.19.2013
Alright, it’s a fine way to relish your plucked leather, there with the sun shining through the empty wine glasses and the scent of bug wings cursing from a measured stick of laughter
By creepestbloom URL on 09.19.2013
Well that was uncalled for.
Storm storm storm. I stormed over.
Just because you’re angry doesn’t give you the right…
Measure it correctly, I told him. Calmly.
The sighed, then sighed again, then sighed and sighed.
It was the longest day.
By Les URL on 09.19.2013
How to decide what to measure. and who gets to measure.
they say 90% of statistics are made up on the spot which there may not be any truth to there being a 10% chance that this statistic is correct.
By jazfry URL on 09.19.2013
Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by his bed and every morning when he wakes up he measures his willpower to continue fighting through the day, through the nightmare that he’s living, through the hardships of his existence. And his penis. That too.
By Katie Wright URL on 09.19.2013
I can’t describe the stupidity in his eyes when he looks at me—some things in life are far too great to be measured.
By WearyWater URL on 09.19.2013
think about the passed past
inches and moments in measure
unkind time tries to find
an answer to the future
as friends forget what meant
and wine unwind the mind
forget the pain
the past tense
day it makes sense
By Matty M. on 09.19.2013
Tyler collapsed onto his bed, the springs hopping under his back. He stared up at the gray popcorn ceiling of his bedroom and heaved a huge sigh, his rage-inflated body depressurizing as air rushed out of his nostrils like steam. Why were they like this? Why was there never any birthday candles on his birthday cakes, why didn’t they ever measure his height against the door frame and make a pencil mark, why didn’t they playfully swing him by the arms?
By Tone Deaf The Bard URL on 09.19.2013
He wined her and dined her. He took her out for a night on the town that was like no other. When it was all over they climbed up the 52 steps to their special spot for good measure.
By Tracey URL on 09.19.2013
It takes much time to measure a persons soul if you really want to know them, love them, and want to be in their life and in their whole heart.
By marylou wynegar URL on 09.19.2013
My granddaughter climbed up on the stool beside me and carefully tried to measure the flour without making a mess. But it ended up all over her, and me.
Measuring is not always good. At least it’s not when you don’t have really suitable tools for it. I wonder if this is why I have to do Mathematics and Physics that much. If we had perfect tools it would be different… -_-
By Tiënor URL on 09.19.2013
5 hundred 25 thousand 600 minutes, 525600 moments so dear. 52600 minutes.
How do you measure- measure a year?
By Annee URL on 09.19.2013
How much merit can you measure from me, mister? Is it a teaspoon or a half cup, white like flour but grainy like sugar? If I cheat on a test once a year, does that make the exams I don’t tinker at worth anything still? Or is that occasional lapse of judgment and morality doom me in the end?
You don’t think I wrote this essay, but I did. I could never copy something like this. The carbon monoxide in my father’s lungs was real. The hope is not.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 09.19.2013
She grew up in numbers
Counting steps and left turns
Second stoplight, go straight through
She learned to give directions
Measuring the distance
Between her tired feet
And that open door
By slantedstories URL on 09.19.2013
We measure our lives in fragments. Childhood, our teenage years, adulthood, elderly. Our memories are simply fragments of time in our mind. Each person only has a measured amount of time that no living being can tell until it’s ended. Does it end after death? Only the dead know. It’s something the living ponder at quite frantically. Live life to the fullest, for your ruler might end sooner than you think.
By Darion URL on 09.19.2013
I will never measure up to their expectations. They see me as smart, as flawless, as a flower in its prime. I am their role model, their aspiration. But here, I don’t feel like it. Lying on the beach, looking at the stars, I am just a small inconsequential being who will never measure up. Who will never be good enough.
By Kristina URL on 09.19.2013
You can measure someone or have their measure. A measure of goodwill. How do you measure happiness? Pain? Disappointment? Loneliness? Poverty? Wealth? Measure has many different meanings. English can be a devilishly hard language to learn.
By Paul Eveleigh on 09.19.2013
How do you measure the divine spark? Does it light your body electric, or are you Adam in the Michelangelo painting just before you wake?
By Sophia URL on 09.19.2013
What is the measure of a man, he thought, as he looked up at the altar stone. The carved words upon them condemned him in Heaven’s eyes, but he wondered if there was another test of a man’s soul than strict adherence to the laws of Heaven. He wondered, he hoped, that his heart would be weighed.
By Isilo Aranel URL on 09.19.2013
I would never comprehend his measure. To give away the one thing most cherished to him, to give himself up. To defeat darkness head on, with no measure of pride found in his heart, but only humility and love. A love that is described as abundant, a love that could never be measured. How does he value me? How does he measure me? I will never comprehend his measure.
By Jose on 09.19.2013
I am constantly comparing myself to others. On paper, online, in life.
And I need to stop, because every day I feel it eat away at me a little more and a little more.
I don’t want to become nothing.
By Rachel URL on 09.19.2013
There was no way I’d beat him. He was stronger, faster, smarter, in every single way one could measure two people against each other, he won in a heartbeat. But it was my own heartbeat that won the race, my own drive…his heart couldn’t keep up. I felt only a little bad beating him, until I saw him collapsed on the ground just yards behind me as I crossed the finish line, finally first.
By Samantha URL on 09.19.2013
The measure of a man is how he treats though below him. How do you measure up against those around you?
By Kristin URL on 09.19.2013
I do not measure up to the person I want to be. I fail to rise above the ridiculous pettiness of those around me. I make mistakes and I miss deadlines even when I try my best. I cannot reach that pinnacle of perfection I desire.
By Drivven Wrinth on 09.19.2013
I don’t know how they measure what makes a good person. Is it the good deeds? The success? The smartness? The kindness? Anymore, a good person is considered someone that just hides all their skeletons in the closet. But, doesn’t everyone have skeletons? Maybe we are thinking of a “too perfect” image…maybe what makes a good person is simply whether their heart is in the right place.
By foost URL on 09.19.2013
“How do I measure it?”
“Measure it?” Carlie asked, indignantly.
“Yes, measure it! Don’t be dumb, I think this is really the one.”
Carlie rolled her eyes. “Mark,” She said, “You are NOT going to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for the largest shit.”
Mark was silent for a moment. “Will you help me measure it anyway?” He asked hopefully.
By Eileen Maki URL on 09.19.2013
She stood up against the wall, and her Mother put a book at the top of her head to measure her height before drawing the line underneath.
What measure are we on? What will you use to measure the ingredients? I must measure my words. Will my measurements remain the same? What’s to measure when one measures one’s words? I measure you not. The measure of a man is not the size of his instruments. Whatever the hell that means.
By michaelbuzz URL on 09.19.2013
She carefully measured out the line of sugar on the edge of the counter. Any piece that rolled down its crumbling sides was gently swept back in to join the others.
By umbazachika URL on 09.19.2013
How do you measure love? Like a credit score, or particle in quantum physics, it changes under observation.
The whole device had to come with disclaimers. A mandatory readme that no one reads. We cannot ensure the future of your relationship. We can only tell you, this is how much you love each other right this instant in time. A time-varying graph, changing after each statement you make.
Daniel was troubled. How real was this love they tried to measure? They were playing Cupid. All these other dating startups crashed and burned, and theirs wouldn’t, because they had the device; they would soar and they would set fire to others: a thousand passions of love, but what would be the charred remains?
The money, that was what he cared about. Make this work, sell it. He was a tech geek, but this tech he would not use. Love for him, he felt, whatever that might be, could not be reduced to a number.
By Holden URL on 09.19.2013
The fools sat there with their rulers, jerking off to see who would measure up to being the ‘big man on campus’. Too bad no one ever told them that most women use something other than a ruler to measure a man. Silly men and their toys.
By FairyNiamh on 09.19.2013
cupfuls spoonfuls hugs in a bag
plastic doggy bags
backpacks, squeaky wheel-y suitcase
can this not start to sound like a song from Rent
if space and time are but perceptions
one moment to the next is
how many steps you take, words you fake.
hugs you squeeze. promises you break.
what do your strides say about you
what’s your ruler for living?
how much is your heart giving?
By Jenna Sofia URL on 09.19.2013
this was a measure with which she was accustomed.
his eyes seemed to lick her up and down, calculating each curve and each valley and each and every disgusted fleck in her honey-bitter eyes.
“done?” she hissed, and he seemed taken aback when he realized she was a living being, instead of a picture for him to peruse.
he opened his mouth and closed it, and then buckled sharply when the girl closed the gap between them in three short steps. she grabbed his crotch through his pants and squeezed until he felt a faint sting. then, she let go before he could even shout.
“you’re just as much of an object as the rest of us,” she said hotly in his ear. “i can measure you just as much as you can measure me.”
By Sorelliena URL on 09.19.2013
He could only guess, by looking, the size of the fish that now swam around the boat. To measure it would require a long rope, and a crane to lift it up first. He decided to leave it alone, and hoped that it would extend him the same courtesy.
By tonykeyesjapan URL on 09.19.2013
They say you can measure a man’s worth by how he carries himself. But to Jim that couldn’t have been true. Being crippled from birth he never stood tall. He never puffed out his chest or picked up his chin. Yet he saved those children, carrying them two-at-a-time as the bus slowly sank into Wilshire pond. He was the hero he knew he could be, even if he’d never look the part.
By Dean Praetorius URL on 09.19.2013
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.