17 year old from Buffalo who lives to write. You'll see reflections of philosophy, the humanities, and activism in some of my work. Check out https://iwanttobecampaign.weebly.com
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Written By: Allie Walker
April 5, 2015
>The bookmark was all that linked Delmar to himself. A carved willow marked long ago pages of dormant perception. Speckles of dreams; now age spots on his skin. He was one of every person that is born into the ocean of life. Surely we will not get sucked into the current as we discover how the sun reaches us through luminous sea . We float, only to forget what it was about this element that had us captivated. Our minds fall asleep to it's magnetic pull. This force made of idlenes drags us to opaque depths; we are jolted awake to languish in admirable memories.Delmar sits on his rocker, feeling sweeps of stabs from rippling waves.. Artificial vows were said; He gave life to a daughter who went on to become a mother because she had to. Pity is a sunken typewriter of love; sloth silence screams at ocean's bottom. Distracted by the bookmark's hushed murmurs, Delmar saw his granddaughter's shadow. The sun was devoted to Corinna, but she loved the tide's sting. Stop erasing my footprints! She squealed, lunging with love into her enemy. “Corinna, come here!” Delmar called, and with this command she fluttered to him. Don't go into the ocean...Take my bookmark and write me a story in the sand.Corinna cupped her feeble hands and waited for him to let go. Delmar drifted back down into his unclouded underwater reverie as he relinquished regret.