laurenwhyte
he scrubbed at his collar with the 10 cent tissue he found in the minibar. the red stain of the tacky lipstick smudges wider as he furiously attacks it and it sets deeper into the crisp white shirt that had been crumpled on the floor only moments earlier.
i hold you so high, on my pillar. there you stand forever, frozen in a dull grey shade of stone. unmoved by time, weather, emotion, fear. Catastrophe may tremor my foundation, but you stand strong, still; my guide, my inspiration, my statue. Nothing can break you.
tied to nothing, pouncing around, chasing the little strand of endless amusement, in her own little world. smiling,and purring she would silently stalk the frayed threat, creeping out from a corner then pouncing! the unsuspecting victim of a childlike fascination
in that instant everything froze. the clash of their two worlds sealed everything in a burning ice. she couldnt breathe, blink, her chest hollowed as his eyes widened. it was a catastrophe, a moment of pure and utter thoughtless chaos. what was she supposed to do next? move, run, breathe, in, out, turn, back, stop, run?
a beacon of light at the end of the dark path, never goes out, never leaves your vision, always reminding you of who you are and what you want, where you want to be, who you want to become and the only way to get there is to keep putting one foot in front of the other
just move. like a kite. dodge the head on currents and slaps of a cold breeze. dive and dip through the foggy and unclear moments. and soar, glide, through your triumphs.
lifting you off your feet. a thousand pink balloons pull you into the abyss. nothing awaits, nothing pulls you back. your shoes kick off, wind lifts under your shirt, in the back of your hair. everything is weightless and for that moment of pure thoughtless bliss, you are finally free.
my beautiful gown. i could dance in my imagination for hours wearing this beautiful dress. people see the tatters, shards, sew patches, wine stains, and smears of dirt. I see a stunning radiant glow of gold and a delicate lace trim, here in the locked box of my beautiful imagination.
in a moment you must respond to the world demanding everything and nothing of you. how quickly do you think you would act when the hand of fate tests your reflexes? how profound will your thoughts be in that second, how pure?