*gloomy*

Status: Indefinite Hiatus
Joined: February 29, 2012
Last Seen: 4 months
Birthday: November 15
user id: 279442
Location: Distant
Gender: F

   02.  29.  12.  

Quotes by *gloomy*

Goals for High School

• Become a Junior Marshal.

• Graduate as valedictorian or salutatorian.

• Get accepted to Duke and/or Wake.

• Wrack up those scholarships.

• Graduate with straight A’s.

• Graduate from Beta club.

• Breathe. Breathe.

• Successfully mentor the next business manager in yearbook. They’ve got big shoes to fill. Don’t forget your first year.

• Soften the social anxiety.

• Drink more water.

• Make a bomb senior recognition ad.

• Keep the squad together.

• Forgive the ones who hurt you.

• Accept the losses when they inevitably come,

• And move on.

• Lastly, keep the bangs.

• (They look good on you.)

Drabble #51 – I drink you in (and breathe you out)

I tugged all of my seams loose waiting. I became desperate. I dipped my feet in icy water like you used to when it got too hot. It gave me chills, but not the good kind. I miss when it was ninety degrees outside and you would still make me shiver. Like clouds eclipse over the sun in a concaving blue sky, you always had a way of extinguishing the red in my touch. Sometimes you don’t know something’s broken until you touch it, and feel the empty spaces shift around. Sometimes you don’t know something’s gold until you fit its mold and come away with marks that shimmer.




“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”     ― Khaled Hosseini


Drabble #50 – Hot, Top, Flight (Boy I’m out of sight)

My toes are curling against the worn, chapped leather of your soles and I’m wondering what roads you have traveled for them to be so weathered. I’m sure if I walked across the moon, I would feel you in the dust beneath me, breathe you in with the stars like little candied bursts painting the universe on my lungs. Well, I too have been plucked like the strings of a fiddle. I have been strum to the beat of someone else’s heart all along. And we're walking down this path and the treetops are howling and I’m thinking… maybe that’s not so bad.


Drabble #49 – 花様年華

The sun is shining, and maybe I’m just daydreaming but you always seem to have the most beautiful gold flecks glittering just under your skin, like someone crumbled up the moon and sprinkled it across your cheeks. I kind of like that—how you get under my skin and stay there, like you belong. There are two cars parked on the side of the road and you’re resting against one, singing that song I hate. There’s a wrench in your hand that you keep tossing up, letting it spin in the air and glint against the sun, like gold flecks.


For a while, the rain hitting my window
Sounded like gunshots.
I would sit back against my curtain,
And count the bullets.

Dear you,
Hey stranger. Remember how I would always take the longest showers, and you would get so frustrated? Lately I’ve noticed, though I suspect it’s always been this way and I just haven’t realized, my shower head has been making the most awful, shrill noises when it’s turned on for too long. It’s the kind of noise that makes you lose your train of thought, and I've wondered if it’s part of the reason why you didn’t come back. I tried everything to make it stop; twisting it, lowering the pressure, taking it apart; and nothing has worked. I can’t think at all like I used to be able to, so I’ve had less time to sort out my emotions. But I guess I can’t complain, it’s warm and showers aren’t really for thinking, they’re for getting clean.

I used to hang up wrinkled shirts in the bathroom while I showered so that the steam could straighten them out—you and I both know I would be disastrous with an iron—but lately they’ve been staying wrinkled. I’ve turned the water on as hot as it will go to make more steam, but the shirts remain wrinkled even then.

Naturally, the steam fogs up my mirror now, so it’s difficult to see myself. But there’s a small spot where, (I have no idea who did it, but I have the strangest feeling it was you) if I squint, I can barely make out my irises. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to brush my hair in the right direction most mornings.
A bird the color of sunlight when it shines through ocean water sat directly across from me, caged and endlessly annoying. For the past hour, it had been picking feed from its food bowl and tossing it outside of its cage, the stiff corn kernels bouncing off of the linoleum with a clack. The bird continued this until its bowl was empty, to which it started tapping its small black beak against the ceramic in the same repetitious clacking noise. I stared blankly at the bird, eyes unfocused and unseeing. I tapped my almost-empty glass against the table a beat behind the bird, lost in some mindless game of push and pull where I didn’t quite know who the enemy was. I couldn’t tell who enjoyed the monotonous echo more, me or the bird. Truthfully, it was driving me insane, but that wasn’t to say it was particularly unpleasant. Really, I knew exactly who the enemy was.

"welcome to the monster plaza"


You cannot sleep tonight.

And as your mind, a blur, chases that imaginative, fickle mistress, a voice rings out,


Blessed be the Night! For we are but carcasses to the offering, and I am so thankful… Praise the light into which you were born! Kiss the soft curve of Night’s sweet promise. This is Night, and it is a good night.

If slumber is a gentle caress to the weary traveler, then this is a glimpse at death. And to share such a thing is to lovingly whisper, experience this sliver of eternity with me. I do not want to do it alone.

Give yourself to the slaughter, and it will give itself to you.

Pause, as though you are trying to find the meaning behind your words. Choke on the cadence in your throat.


We’re those paint drops seconds before they hit the canvas.
You might never know where they’ll land,
And   maybe   it   won't   be   the   picture   you   wanted   to   paint,

But there’ll always be someone who will appreciate it.
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