

Never is a PromiseAt first, the way he looked at me made me cringe. As I fell apart, he leapt to catch the pieces, and I crumpled into sturdy arms that kept me from hitting the floor. He was hurt, a large gash ran across his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice this. Apparently I was worse off than he was, but my own wounds didn’t hurt in the slightest, not really. I thought absently of how the paper cut I’d gotten just a few hours before still stung on my pinky.Never is a Promise
“Don’t move,” he said, struggling to find a piece of cloth to stop my insides from spilling out onto the floor. I couldn’t feel my feet or fingers anymore, and the room began to fuzz, d


Love UnclassifiedThe best way to describe him would be that, as far as I can put it into words, he somehow melts in with the crowd; he’s there, but his manner is so submissive he’s just another boy without a face. He is quiet, but not overly silent, afraid of speaking for fear of being noticed. He craves attention, yet chooses indifference and animosity over fame and obnoxious popularity. He is gentle, yet can transform with the slightest change in conversation, as is natural. If he were to disappear, many would not notice; this boy who is one with the scenery hides his face from most, not ashamed but embarrassed of what might happen if he ventured out of theLove Unclassified
Would you mind reading through this, if you have time, and letting me know what you think? Don't worry if you can't. (Sorry if this appears rude, I'd just like some opinions!) [link]
Thanks. ^_^
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I see you
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"dwell in possibility."-emily dickinson
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