Wondering what the 'have a good day' comments are all about? Please go here: writeacrossme.deviantart.com/j…
So, like I haven't even posted a journal since before my birthday. Whoops. Sorry about that
I'm just going to skip to saying Merry Christmas and Happy New Years! Christmas was great for me - I hope it was for you as well.
As for talking about a New Year, I'm so glad 2014 is here. To be blatantly honest, 2013 was not a... how do I put this? It was a tough year for me. It wasn't horrible, but it was kinda sucky a lot. Let's make 2014 a whole lot less suck!
That's not to say I didn't learn some things and gain valuable experiences. I learned so much about myself and who I am and what my dream is. I learned who my real friends are and as well as losing some friends, I also gained friends that I hope to have for the rest of my life.
I experienced some things that taught me valuable life lessons. I know. CHEESY. But it's true, and that's why I wouldn't trade out 2013 for anything.
I'd say, for growing as a person, it was a productive year. And now I can put the past in the past and now think about the future!
Right now I'm playing basketball so that's mainly why I'm not active. Maybe I can be after, but no promises there. I have things I CAN post, but who knows if I will.
I hope your lives are all as fantastic (or even better) as mine is right now! let's make 2014 the best year yet!
Featured Gallery
Ninety percentHe is about sixty percent dead. Maybe seventy percent, it’s hard to tell.
His long arms hang loosely on his shoulders and his lips are cracked, chewed. His damaged blue eyes lifelessly scan the book that lies on the table in front of him. Even though so numb and cold, his eyes don’t fail to amaze the people that stare at him curiously. They have a fascinating sparkle and are filled with wonders, but it’s easy to see that soon the power will fade. With time he collects scars. And with those scars, his life begins to leak and disappear down the rusted drain.
His handsome face is hidden underneath dark shadows, gaunt cheekbones, and much too pale skin. His callused hands have scars across the knuckles and bruises line the side of his neck. He taps his foot, tap, tap, tap. Pause. He looks up for a second and the girl across the room catches his eyes. He averts her gaze and turns back to his book anxiously. Tap, tap, tap.
Study his long dark lashes, the effor
I'm Falling ApartNothing about Death is romantic.
Romance is not the cries of agony heard from miles away, the blood that seeps into the floorboards, nor the ropes that hang from the ceiling. Romance is not the hand that goes limp on a bed with white sheets… not screams of help in the moonlight.
Romance is slow dancing with no music, kisses after a fight, promises of the night.
But Death… Death is harsh, cruel, angry, and alone. So alone. His boney fingers wrap around the necks of the innocent and hardly ever the guilty. His teeth are sharp, his eyes are dark, his soul black and coated with the ones he reaps.
We grieve, we pain, we hurt, we suffer…
All because of Love.
Love is deep, dark, and vast like the ocean. My mother told me this once when I was small; she told me that while it makes some stronger, it can break others. Did it make me stronger? I have no idea. Am I broken? Maybe. Maybe I am.
And Anger grips us so tightly, with only the biggest efforts we escape.
