Lungs

Status: Finished

Lungs

Status: Finished

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Lungs Lungs

Script by: JessicaStone

Genre: True Confessions

Houses:

Script by: JessicaStone

Details

Genre: True Confessions

Houses:

Summary

This again, is about acceptance, or realisation. Being left to clean up the mess someone else has left behind.

Summary

This again, is about acceptance, or realisation. Being left to clean up the mess someone else has left behind.

Content

Submitted: December 17, 2011

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Content

Submitted: December 17, 2011

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A girl stands amoung piles of newpapers and clothes and half packed suitcases with odd shoes and broken chairs array around the room. Her hair is messy, as if she has been running her hands through them. She is on the phone. An old phone, it is not plugged in but she is speaking as if it is.

Becca:And I suddenly realized I'd been holding my breath. All this time I'd been patiently turning blue, just waiting, thinking that surely, one day, there would be some outcome to this whole bulshit situation that would justify the past two years of stupidity. That the outcome would be so warm, and full of reason that I could finally sigh. I could finally breathe out and in. and the air would taste like Devon. Like the top of a field where no one else has ever stood. By a tree that no one has ever stroked. Making daisy chains from flowers that have never been smelt. He loves me, he loves me not.
He loves me not.
Forget me always. I’ll forget you not. Not once have I gone to sleep without imagining your arms around my waist. Without pretending the draft from my window is your breath on my neck. My chest hurts. I try to let go and I’m gasping, clutching at nothingness, at pointlessness. And I swear I can hear my destiny laughing at me, saying 'hah.. And you thought it was going to happen for you.. What have I taught you.. You never learn' i thought that by suffering, by learning, that my dues were paid, but i was wrong.
He’s leaving.
And he's taking everything I’ve ever wanted with him. He’s taking my laughter, my unnecessary comments, my pint of fosters at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. But most of all, he's taking my lungs. I can’t breathe. I can’t.. I can’t breathe, breathe.. I can't. He’s leaving and all that's left is my empty, rejected, shell where a soul used to live.
I stop wanting to breathe. To think, to see, to feel, to smell, to speak, to be.
I can't breathe.


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