Life At It's Best

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The time moves slowly, but at times it can appear to stop moving completly. But the world, even at it's best, has to change eventually.
umm, this isn't really poetry, I just couldn't find somewhere else to put it. And the rhthym is kind of poetic.

Submitted: July 28, 2008

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Submitted: July 28, 2008

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My feet sink through the dark, wet sand as we walk along the empty, glowing beach. My hand my pressed into his, molding to the shape. The sunset reflected off his perfect features, casting a glow, brighter than the sun itself. Perfect to me, as no other face could speak the love that this one possesed.

We collapse on a patch of unusualy dry sand, flushed with heat and embaresment. This was the first time that either of us had spent more than five minutes alone together, but it had been anything but awkward. There hadn't been much talking at all, as we both had the same thoughts. Our minds were free to wander, but we knew that we could find our way back if all we needed was warmth and condolance.

He leaned over and kissed me. It was light, but it was warm, caring. It spoke out loud, saying "I'm here. And I'll never let you go." I had longed for that kind of love, only to realize that it had been in front of me the whole time. I had felt foolish, but that had been replaced by an unbroken bond that was like no other that I had ever known.

I believe that life is in constant balance. If someone's life is too good, Fate evens the score. Fate was cruel, but I was determined to makethis last.As the outside world caried on without us, our world was in a suspended reality, only noticing the most vital things; Each other.

The ragging tide crashed against the surf, damppening my toes. The sky was now almost dark, and the gulls cried out to the world that it was time to rest. He kissed me again, and I didn't resist. This was too good, I decided. Too good to last.

This, I thought, was life at it's best.

Two months later, I lay on my bed, feeling more alone than I ever had. My eyes were puffy from crying, but I had cried myself dry of tears. Fate had once again proved my belifes true; life had become too good, and it had all been taken away from me. I wanted to feel angry, to feel anything but the empty, hollow pain that I felt now, but it didn't come. I was derived of any emotions besides pain and hurt. I had thought that he had loved me. But I had thought wrong. I made these mistakes fequently, but I never seemed to learn from them. Dammnit, why couldn't I learn from mistakes, rather than repeat them?

I could hear my family downstairs, laughing and a joke that I had missed. How could they be so happy, when thir only daughter lay on her bed, depression seeping through her every pore? Had they no hearts? Didn't they care at all?

I immediatly felt guilty for such thoughts. Of coure they cared. They had tried to help me for months, and all I had done was push thier loveing kindness away. They had given up on me, not the other way around. The pain grew sharper, but this was a different pain; not of lonliness, but of guilt. Horrible, painful guilt. They wanted me, butI hadn't wanted them.I had to appologise somehow, but I wasn't a very verbile person.

So I pushed myself off my bed, and Iwalked down the stairs to join them.


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