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United States

Love to write. Doesn't matter if it's good.

Message from Writer

Please read, critique, read again, and enjoy yourselves thoroughly. If needed, read again and critique harshly. I'm always looking to improve my writing.

No Destination

January 4, 2019

There's a huge whoosh, a screech as the wheels struggle to find a grip in the glossy water of the street, interrupting the quiet conversation of a city night. 
A street lamp reveals tears embracing a mirror-puddle on the ground, their source looking up as the bus opens its doors. A backpack is shouldered, bulging at the zippers. Fear glances back into the dark night, followed by guilt, as the small body hands the driver a ticket and becomes caged as the door closes.There's a huge whoosh, a screech as the wheels struggle to move again in the glossy water of the street. Headlights pierce stifling blackness with no destination. 

I stand here, numb. The tips of my fingers are cold- not the kind of cold that can be warmed.
Something is missing inside me, something that used to burn and ignite at the smallest thought. I reach inside the hole where my heart should be and find it empty. I feel no surprise. My heart is missing, and I don't even bother looking for it. All motivation was lost in trying to give it to others. Memories glance back at me through the darkness of my mind, but soon fade back out of the hole in my chest. I don't remember who I am, who I was.
And so I continue to stand here, numb, letting my heart wander with no destination.


See History
  • January 4, 2019 - 9:39am (Now Viewing)

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