so basically my face is swollen like a fucking chipmunk and I am subjected to eat pudding every day. Oh, and pain medicine that makes me zooted like a 7-11 crackhead asking for change.
i have returned to the emptiness which inevitably follows reading a very very good book and having nothing to read afterwards because i can't think of anything that would be as good...(this is my not so subtle way of asking if anyone knows books similar to the charioteer and can recommend them 😭)
warm burnt orange. riding off into the sunset, the hope of a happy ending, the bitter after taste that still in it's own way smells kinda great. your love is all bitter hopefulness, all about a broken heart that refuses to quit, all about the unshakable knowledge that a burning fire has a great comforting warm and a soft glowing light, all about the way when the sun comes down there's a beautiful starry night. it's stubbornness, it's the refusal to give up, the clutching of broken shards despite the searing pain and being adamant that dammit you can still make a beautiful stained glass window out of it. yours is a screaming heart, a pleading love, a bitter and almost belligerent hopefulness that things will still work out even if you have to roll up your sleeves and make them. and god, aren't you tired? isn't your heart heavy? is all your hard work worth it? don't you just want to curl up and let it be? let the fire turn to ashes and the sky turn dark and let love die down and watch people leave? but you don't, do you? you're the bravest out of all of us, so you pick up the pieces and you keep going, you keep believing and you keep your heart full of hope because some day. some day you know you'll get it. you keep riding off into the sunset and you keep filling my heart with hope as you go because god, how do i wish you finally get it too.
Ellen had been strolling down the sidewalk, looking around at all the shops and buildings. As she turned the corner, she had expected to see more passerby’s, maybe even a foodstand or two, but instead, her eyes fell onto something else. There was someone limping her way, looking injured… badly injured.
“Oh goodness! Are you okay?” She rushed toward them, obviously worried.
It was a busy day in New York City. Hordes of people walked at a speedy pace. If you dared to slow down, you could easily get trampled. Or even worse, there was a possibility of getting ran over. However, throughout the concrete jungle, there was someone limping towards Ellen. The individual was horribly beaten, and he left a small blood trail behind him.
With further inspection, it was an humanoid. The blood was actually battery fluid. He jerked his head towards her. Maybe she could help? Johnny tried to muster words, but alas he couldn't speak. Feeling weak, he fell to his knees.
I am realizing I truly could not have survived at a regular college because I can't even comprehend what's going on in my art history class and as far as I'm concerned it's pretty simple stuff