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Literature Text
I have a confession to make:
I have a not-so-secret admirer.
Every two or three days, somebody makes sure to send me the sweetest text messages from different numbers, yet somehow, I am certain that they're all written by that same somebody. I mean, sentence structure, grammar, and punctuation patterns can't be that difficult for a linguistics major to decipher, now can they?
All the while he, he casually greets me every morning by the bus stop as we head out to our respective businesses; one could never have guessed that he is the culprit who never fails to discover on a daily basis the status my health and general affairs. Although he rarely ever makes the effort to sit next to me on the bus, my peripheral vision pleases me with what I see- his attention fully devoted to me.
Every other Sunday morning, someone always surprises me with little bundles of forget-me-nots or gardenias, carefully gold, purple, and turquoise ribbon-wrapped. Someone always places this tiny, treasured token of his into my mailbox or atop my doormat with a reminding note on how much more beautiful I've become since the last fortnight that this specific someone has written to me.
I have another confession to make:
I have a not-so-secret crush on this not-so-secret admirer of mine.
I have a not-so-secret admirer.
Every two or three days, somebody makes sure to send me the sweetest text messages from different numbers, yet somehow, I am certain that they're all written by that same somebody. I mean, sentence structure, grammar, and punctuation patterns can't be that difficult for a linguistics major to decipher, now can they?
All the while he, he casually greets me every morning by the bus stop as we head out to our respective businesses; one could never have guessed that he is the culprit who never fails to discover on a daily basis the status my health and general affairs. Although he rarely ever makes the effort to sit next to me on the bus, my peripheral vision pleases me with what I see- his attention fully devoted to me.
Every other Sunday morning, someone always surprises me with little bundles of forget-me-nots or gardenias, carefully gold, purple, and turquoise ribbon-wrapped. Someone always places this tiny, treasured token of his into my mailbox or atop my doormat with a reminding note on how much more beautiful I've become since the last fortnight that this specific someone has written to me.
I have another confession to make:
I have a not-so-secret crush on this not-so-secret admirer of mine.
Literature
Eurydice
His voice enveloped me, and I became
Myself again--I heard it in the song:
A mordent on a note he held too long;
A stutter in his voice. I heard my name
In these and felt a happiness the same
As when I saw him first. Oh, I had longed
To hear him sing again, but this last song--
It was so beautiful. And it remains
The best of human works, though none shall hear
Its sorrowed notes; the lyre's meand'ring tune
Through vast arpeggios and Death's expanse
Except the dead. It will not disappear
'Till all the world's destroyed, and hell's exhumed--
Such music must be worth a backwards glance.
Literature
denial and uglier aftermath
i drink to you, raising my glass and
choking down the things you left,
ignoring my gag reflex and waiting
on the buzzing in my head, white cotton
lullabies for the weak of heart.
it kills me that we are just a
collection of vignettes, that soon
i might see your blossom fingers
and bleeding sunset smile but
only as a memory gone static with neglect;
this summer, i became a rebel. a
martyr in a child’s game, a vagrant
with boxes of dead poetry to call
a home, and when i asked you to want me,
it’s only so you’d take the sanity and consciousness
with you when you left. i miss
the days when personality disorders
were not gra
Literature
the letter that never arrived
as if grief had never hollowed out my heart,
caverns echoing with the memory of a laugh,
as if despair had never stolen my voice
until love whispered in my ear
and I knew what mattered,
to speak
of knowing: there are things
you will decide to protect yourself from,
pain
you must never relive,
and some you must live
and live again,
no matter the cost
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A prose piece 
Just a little add-on:in the language of flowers
forget-me-nots represent true love and fond memories while
gardenias are another way to say "your are lovely"
Hope you guys enjoy the read!
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I WOULD SUPER LOVE TO SEE COMMENTS, THANK YOU!!
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Critiques:
Was the story line clear?
Which line did you like/dislike the most?
Was there real impact at any instance?
Just a little add-on:in the language of flowers
forget-me-nots represent true love and fond memories while
gardenias are another way to say "your are lovely"
Hope you guys enjoy the read!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I WOULD SUPER LOVE TO SEE COMMENTS, THANK YOU!!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Critiques:
Was the story line clear?
Which line did you like/dislike the most?
Was there real impact at any instance?
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Comments39
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D'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Sorry. That was just really, really, really adorable.
I've never had a secret admirer. I kind of always wanted one... just to have mystery notes and such to surprise me. But husbands are pretty good at doing that, just less anonymously. 