* I write when I'm upset... I have never reread this... so i cannot remember what it says.
Like she's watching herself with a peripheral view.
She can't stand here in a patch of four leaf clover.
because she knows what it feels like to be alone...
and she doesn't have that much room (in her heart) to live.

no one in the world could bring her down
but how do you find your voice, when you can't seem to dream?
so how do you sleep when you know she's thinking of you (do you?)

they say that good things take time...
but there's an ice box where her heart used to be
or else that heart's just unbearably full...
or is that her tear ducts that makes that aching feeling?
how easy it is to be misunderstood
to quickly realise that even the people who love her can't possibly help her
she's on her own
trying to work it out
everytime she thinks she's close to the heart
something pulls her away and she's got to start again

she can't just keep standing in that patch of four leaf clover
watching the girl who looks just like her stumble through life

recluse.

making her mistakes...
the one she knows she doesn't make
or never used to
but she's making it anyway
and she can't stop her

why is that, you think?
she knows she's alone
because the car only fits one

and in the meantime, we watch
for the inevitable fall from the heavens...
please, she cries, just hold on

til He comes to save her

*non-serious drabble. inspired by Living the Dream 2.

  "I'm okay... I'm okay..."
    Taryn laughed as Joe's muffled voice floated up from the hole. She should've been concerned; she knew that, except that when your boyfriend tended to fall with every ten steps he took, it was hard to muster any feeling other than plain amusement.
    At least it wasn't on broken glass...
    Not bleeding either.

    "THAT is my concern!" Mr Jonas insisted, glaring at the stage manager, then shifting the glare to his other two sons, as though they were responsible for Joe missing the mat when he fell.

    "Maybe we should get a trampoline..." Frankie suggested helpfully. He'd been spending the last ten minutes sliding down the ramp on his belly, backside and in various surfing positions.

    "There she goes again... the girl I'm in love with..." Nick plucked the strings of his red Gibson guitar, his brow furrowed. SOMETHING was wrong with 'Gibsy' today... he shook the electric guitar, as though the sound would miraculously correct itself. He even considered patting it, but thought that would be taking it a LITTLE too far. He snuck a glance at her, and glanced away quickly when her brown eyes met his. Flustered, he focused on his guitar.
   "Don't take my heart and put it on a shelf..." he strummed some more. "It's really bad for my health..."
    Nick Jonas was having a bad day, music wise.
    It seemed like it wasn't his day for romantic gestures either.

    Kevin was watching Frankie with an air of bafflement, occasionally shifting his feet and moving his arms in a parallel motion subconsciously as his little brother effortlessly performed the simple stunt he'd been trying to perfect for the last twenty minutes.
   "How do you DO that?" he finally burst out. After his tenth spill on the ramps, he was finally ready to concede defeat.
    "Bend your knees, stick your butt out a little more...  no, not like THAT!" Frankie used the back of his hand to whack the body part in question.

    "I still think you should..." Mr Jonas was rentless.

    "Your opinion is noted," Kevin finally replied tiredly.

    23:59 hours..

*incomplete. supposedly my take on Stephenie Meyer's dream- the dream that inspired Twilight

For most people, a dream is ever just only a dream. In dreams, we create a world that is entirely our own. In it, we bring people to life. Characters so real, they can think on their own. Nothing is impossible as long as the dream lasts, and we don’t wake up. Waving a pencil, and muttering a self-invented incantation, I can levitate any object, enchant the broom to do the housework. Then, something pulls us back into reality. The dream is lost, and we set our feet firmly back on the ground. It is ever only a dream.

I tossed and turned in my bed that night, unable to settle. The list of chores and things to do flashed across my eyes, and any attempts to clear my mind were futile. Finally, in a desperate need to get a few hours of sleep, I took a dose of cold medicine, the kind that knocked a person out for a good few hours. Slowly, I felt myself lose consciousness.

I awoke in a very different world from the one I had just left, a world surrounded by various shades of green.

Drabble. Prompt by eminish. (meaning she gave me the first line)

    Why was her spaghetti sour? In truth, Arielle didn't have the faintest idea. Tomatoes... olive oil... She poked at the tangle of noodles dubiously.

    "So, how is it, mommy? Do you like it? I made it myself!" The innocent head of curly blonde ringlets was the only reason why she was forking the strands into her mouth. Her husband stood behind him, flashing a sympathetic yet amused look.

    The flowers beside the bowl were fresh, and looked suspiciously like the ones from Penelope's backyard next door. How Alex had managed to pick some of their surly neighbours' precious sunflowers- or even get into her backyard-, Arielle didn't want to know. The coffee cup was two thirds full, with a small pool of the brown-black liquid sloshing in the saucer. The misshapen clay mug from Alex's art class held freshly squeezed orange juice- pulp, seeds and all, and the cereal swam in an ocean of chocolate milk.
   
    Arielle picked up the piece of bright red cardboard from where it was propped up on the tray. 'Daddy, Mommy and Your Bestest Little Helper' was scrawled painstakingly under three stickmen holding various indistinguishable objects. She glanced at the three year old sitting on her outstretched feet, bouncing up and down on the mattress with vigour. Smiling gently, she forked another large mound of noodles into her mouth.
   
    "It's delicious, sweetie."   
   
    Happy Mommy's Day.

 He wears Armani; rays of sunlight winking off the polished, understated black. 
She owns Chanel; the quilted pieces of fabric she grips that shows her place in the world. 
Burberry swishes around her arms as she walks. From above, the hideous, monogrammed yellow parts the sea of anonymous black. Classy.
The shoes move silently on the parquet floors. One painstaking work of fine leather after another. He has a place in Dolce.
They make their way around the carousel; hand stitched leather among ugly green plastic. The stamped LVs earning her accolades.
Chloe swings from her arm; happy, excited and bright. She shines her spotlight on her owner.
Still, he (only) wears Armani. Black and black, with a splash of black.

 I keep my mind full of thoughts at night, because the things that I don't like to think about are right there, at the edges, ready to worm their way into conscious thought and force tears  out of my eyes. Without letting the periphery come into focus, I cry anyway- I cry for things I never had to experience, because of the guilt that I feel thinking about those experiences, and then for the people who have lived through those experiences.
I wish I could get all my thoughts down on paper, but when I try, my thoughts seem so full of trivalities. I have not mastered the art of imprinting thoughts onto paper. But I learn more every day, just by being me, and from listening to the quiet encouragement from all those that came before me.

*something I wrote while reading Honourshill. A personal entry of my thoughts.

Aubrey whipped her head around. "What?!" She realised that she was holding on to his arms, and quickly let go. "What did you say?"

"I'll do it," he shrugged, putting his arms on hood of his red convertible, effectively trapping her. He looked down into her eyes. The light reflecting off them made the green flecks look almost white. 

"That- that... I wasn't thinking straight. You weren't supposed to take me seriously-"

"Well I think it's a good idea." Now he smiled, a genuine one that did reach his eyes. "Look, no one loses here," he reasoned. "You think we won't work out and you want to prove it. I say you can't resist my- dare I say irrisistible charm? Here's your chance to prove me wrong."

"Why?" She forgot her discomfort at being pinned by his arms; even forgot the curious gazes the other kids threw at them as they walked past, slowing down to stare for as long as they dared. "Why do you bother wasting your time on a girl whom you know will never like you?"

He laughed, a low chuckle, as he lowered his lips to graze her ear. Aubrey shivered unvoluntarily. "Baby," he whispered. "I know you like me. I'm just waiting for you to realise it." Seeing the scorn flit across her face, he withdrew. "Besides, it's just pretend, right?" He shrugged, "What could go wrong?"

 She pushed him away from her, walking to the passenger door of his car. "True..." she smiled, "I'm looking forward to your ego being crushed, Treyton. You couldn't stand me as a kid, you won't be able to stand me now." She threw him a pointed gaze and motioned to the door. 

He smirked. He edged deftly between her and the car door, opening it before she could. Grasping her outstretched hand, he linked her fingers through his, feeling the softness of her skin. He did a mock bow; bending to press his lips to her hand. "Your chariot awaits, milady," he announced, guiding her into the vehicle. She couldn't stifle the giggle that escaped at the sight of the dark haired senior who ruled the school helping her- HER, the school's new unknown into his car. 

"You're going to have to keep that up for five months, Treyton," she grinned. "Think you can do it?"

He walked over to the driver's side and slid in, feeding the key into the ignition. "Baby, I've had girlfriends before," he drawled. A light came into his eyes as he slid his gaze over to her. "You however..."

"You're not gonna be getting me in bed anytime soon," she growled. "It's pretend, remember?"

He looked amused. "Sure, baby... just pretend." He pulled out of the parking space. "You're going to have to pretend I'm your boyfriend too, you know," he reminded her. "A little hard for you, isn't it? You've never had one before."

Aubrey gave a fake yawn, resting her arm on the window and counting the trees as they flashed past. "Piece of cake," she declared. "Nothing you do will ever make me fall for you... and in the meantime, I get free dinners on our fake dates."

She sighed luxiuriously, sinking into the rich leather seat. "This is going to be the best six months of my life."

***
Lukas Treyton has fallen for his childhood best friend. Admist noisy arguments and sharp repartee, the two formed their love/hate relationship. When Aubrey Maddison enrolls in Lukas' high school, he tries to make his feelings known. What happens when Aubrey proposes a five month dating experiment to prove her point about their incompatibility and put his pestering and obvious raging hormones to rest? 

 Title: Sweet Dreams
Fandom: Original

Title:  Impressions Last
Shipping: Edward/Bella
Fandom: Twilight

 

( where do vanished objects go? )

 

 Title: Comes all the way back around

Fandom: original