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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

short stories.

Submitted: December 31, 2017

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Submitted: December 31, 2017



Its time again to talk about myself.


I’m hard to understand but easy to read. I have many dreams, but hard to choose between them. I think I understand myself but yet I seem to not understand a thing I like. One day I like hot chocolate the next I despite it. I hate chocolate but I will eat it if given by a someone I trust. I do not love I trust. Because love is dangerous, and trust is useful. Or maybe am being ignorant by saying so but who cares. Unless you know me then please speak up.


The weather is cold, it keeps us together, makes us remember. Remember things we wanted to forget, and things we want to remember. Makes you clingy to people unconsciously. The sky is white, no grey. A bit of clouds there and there. Or maybe the grey colour is the clouds. Does it make you happy? It doesn’t make me happy. Its pale, like my attitude sometimes when tired.


I miss hearing the birds sing in the morning. I wake up late. When I leave the house early to school, I wear my headphones and forget to hear the birds because it is too dark.


I wake up as if the alarm went off too early, and I go home as if I’ve caught the last train. It’s depressing. I coup.


I have friends. I thank them for being there for me. I love them. Thank you for the attention, thank you for your thoughts, thank you for saying my name, and thank you for saying you miss me. Do I trust you? Am I ignorant? Why do you care? I’m always going to be there for you so why question it.


Enough of me, how about you? 

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