i don't want to be party to all that you want me to be, ever. miss a beat in the main point, tell me how i could be. vague terms; confused. ignore my way of thinking; shut down argument and go on your way.
they try to tell me that a true lady stays still. she doesn't explore. i choose to shove this aside, run through the best of a new adventure, and make a highlights display later. they don't think a lady should be her own person.
there's micro temptation in each way you create chaos here. carrot and the stick: i want to come back, to relapse. really shouldn't. maybe you could close yourself off for a day or two, let the dust clear, leave me be - i refuse.
one quick breeze has arrived. it skims over the ocean, ruffles the water into peaks that are near-identical. white foam tops the crest before it dissolves, gone in an unseen pattern. on the sand, fish and chip papers rustle.
there's blush pink tinting the sky, glowing across too much space to fathom. a dress is dyed in dark pink which lightens as it dries: it remains unnamed. it's gone light, called blush pink, equal to the sky's tone and all quite by chance.
the stage stands, cold and bare. tonight there are no decorations, no enraptured audience waiting for the performer who waits in the wings. she stands on tiptoe, eyes on the clock of her smartphone, patient and tentative. she's in jeans and a white t-shirt, as dressed down as she can make herself. this is supposed… Continue reading patience
typical summer night, densely humid, and still air-con's not enough. sneak to the kitchen, find a glass of ice water still dripping with cold. morning dawns, dark and crisp, cold air curling around the bus stop's edges.