#thinkwritten

[writergracethepanda]

ThinkWritten

my favorite writing website

https://thinkwritten.com/

[indy-and-her-bones]

The Unrequited love poem

(Rather than doing something new for this prompt, I’m using a piece I started writing this summer for a little collection of unsent love letters I plan on putting together one day. I’ve been looking for an excuse to post it and this seems like the perfect opportunity. Now suffer my drama and unedited work.)

I don't even know where to start with you.

Love stories always have an air of fantasy, even the sad ones. I’ve always thought heartbreak was either beautifully tragic or fueled with indignant rage. No inbetweens - the lover is a jerk or the one that got away. But you were my gray area. You were real, and that's what makes it difficult. 

I can't think of you as a friend, I can't think of you as a lover. I don't think of the nights we spent wrapped up in each other or the nights we spent just sitting in comfortable silence. Every time I try to write about the beginning, all I can think of is the middle and the end. The way you looked at me at that party and leaned in just a little too close, the way you rested your head on my shoulder after a long day. All I can remember is that messy in between. How the muted warmth of mutual affection was accompanied by the impossible to escape reality that was missing each other in time in space. Wrong place, wrong time. No cure for that. Might as well grin and bear it.

 And I think we were pretty good at that.

Besides, I was always far more affectionate towards you. I don't know exactly why. Maybe it's because I'm an old romantic at heart, and you’re such a genuinely good person that I held on to the sweet small taste I got of getting to be yours. Or maybe it's because I have a vein for the dramatic and tragic. Most likely, it was a little of both, combined with the fact that even it hurt what we had was a welcome distraction from the static in my mind. 

Of course, you probably know all of this. You’ve always been as honest as you could be with me, and I appreciate that. I do. In fact, I got over the first time you said you couldn't be with me. It hurt like hell, but in a kind way. You weren't being cruel, you were looking after yourself and in some part of it, after me. I was glad to have you as a friend, and I admired you for doing what was best for yourself. (For the record, I still am, and still do.)  You seemed so strong, so mature. I looked up to you. 

But the second time was a betrayal. You were drunk enough to kiss me, drunk enough to convince me that your affection hadn't truly waned, and drunk enough to take me home. You were also drunk enough to forget any of this happened. I guess waking up next to me was a surprise. Not that it stopped you from coming on to me again. Didn’t matter that you couldn’t remember how I got there, or what you said to get me there. Hey, as long as I’m there, right? Might as well make use of me before you break my heart again. And oh lord, did you! You told me that drunk you was doing what sober you really wanted to do, but what he was sensible enough not to. Sober you was smart. Sober you didn’t get involved with me. 

I liked you too much to upset you with my pain. I shrugged it off. No, really, it's fine. It's really fine. I can't remember the last time somebody I cared about so much had hurt me so badly, all while trying to shrug it off as a wacky drunken escapade instead of a case of you lying to get me into bed with you again - whether you meant to lie to me or not, I don’t think I’ll ever know. I don’t want to know. I give you the benefit of the doubt. 

But the unkindest thing was admitting that a part of you really, truly liked me. That was the point of no return. You planted seeds of terrible hope. They still grow, the dark leaves blocking out the sun and the sharp vines creeping up my throat and choking me. It's hard to forgive you for that. You created a hopeless fool.  And then you kicked me out of your house so you could drink with your friends.

But that what you did. You get drunk and you don’t have a care in the world. So I followed in your footsteps, and my families footsteps, and my old lovers' footsteps, and I drank and smoked until my stream of consciousness was no longer clear. They weren't my words, they were my feelings, pouring out as a messy mistake that I really don't regret. 

Because it was with those open gates that you found me in the crowd that night. Entirely drunk and entirely happy, you were having the time of your life. Bragging about how much you had drank. That drove the dagger in deeper. You were ecstatic with your sins and I was rotting because of them. I felt slighted and stupid and unimportant and furious. The seeds of hope were a lie and yet they grew nonetheless. I spoke without thinking:

"You stop drinking, before you break another girl's heart."

You were stunned. God, how are you so smart and yet so stupid? Your response only made it worse: Guilt. How could you only feel guilty now, after everything? How could this be the first you knew? It swept over your face and only then did an ounce of the pain you gave me return to you. You spoke softly, incredulous and defeated:

"Did I really break your heart?"

Did you really? I didn't have an answer. All I could do was avoid your eyes.

"You opened up some old wounds".

You move closer towards me, or maybe you were just pushed in by the crowd. You lean in but don't touch me. I can feel you struggling to find words. You give a sad half-laugh, still shocked that someone would have liked you enough for you to hurt them.

"I'm... really sorry. You don't deserve that. You deserve better than me."

Somewhere between the truth of that statement and my intoxication, I find my tears and like my words I'm unable to control them.  

"Yeah, I do". I say it and it feels like a lie.

This is the first time I've been really, truly honest with you. And my god, it burns. You walk away to continue your party, awkward and confused. I find my tears impossible to stop and leave with the hopes you hadn't seen. You didn't notice last time, how could this be different? I make it home and I don't tell anyone.

Crying over you at this point felt like a reflex. It was hardly something I wanted to do. It seemed to happen without my permission. I come back to my senses slowly. I think of what my mother would say if she knew I was crying like this over a boy, and I remember the 14-year-old girl who looked up to me to be an example of taking care of yourself first, and I remember Daniel, so sweet and so gentle, checking up on me the first time you broke my heart like I didn't know what he was doing and I just can't disappoint a nice Catholic boy from Alabama, I just can't, so I chalk the night up as a loss and go to bed. I wake up foggy and exhausted. But it’s sunny out. So I get out of bed. It's a hollow victory. But a victory nonetheless.

You don't mention it in the morning. No dreaded "Can we talk?" text where I can feel the pity through the screen. I tell myself you were too drunk to remember me, again. But that feels like a lie too.

You trickle back into my life in the days after that. You're warmer and softer and make an effort to see me. And I know you remember. But we don't talk about it. You must have assumed that I forgot, too. Unfortunately, we're not all blessed with your ability to black out the harm we do to others. It was the only time it felt like you were sorry. Sober me convinced herself that you had noticed the pain you caused, not that it had taken my drunk self breaking down in the middle of a parade to make you actually see me. I'd like to think our friendship has actually recovered from that. I think we have something nice, though it's strained by something sad. Those seeds you planted haven't grown in the while. I've learned to prune the choking plants that grew but I can't really get rid of them. They get smaller every day I don't talk to you, and return to size once you come back. I hold you dearly as a friend, and bitterly as a lover. There's the us that was something more than nothing and the us that never dated. It's like living in two dimensions at once: One where it all went wrong and one where we never let it live. And here we are, in the gray area.

So know this, please. You were the best guy I've had and you're also the one who's hurt me the most. And even though I'm enjoying my loneliness, on the cusp of truly becoming who I want to be, I can't get you out of my head as my star-crossed one who got away, though trust me, I know- that's giving you far too much credit.

I really do still value you as a friend. You’re a great person, and I don’t regret anything that happened. Nobody’s perfect, right? And you tried. You really did.  But that's one of the many beautiful things about you- you love to look on the bright side, and to approach every situation with the kind of hope and love that I aspire to. You can't see the pain. To move on, I really need you to know how deep that cut went, and how deep that pain runs. You know all the fun stuff. I needed you to see what I was holding back so we could have the fun stuff. 

You’ve been gone for quite some time now. You talk to me here and there, about the places you want to go and the places you can’t go - New Orleans, Oregon, New York. Maybe you’ll come back, maybe you won’t, nothing is clear. Maybe I’ll stay, maybe I won’t. I guess that’s the fun thing about our friendship - who knows what’s going to happen next! All kidding aside, I get the feeling that you’ll always be in my life in some way or another. If there’s anything I’ve learned from you, it’s flexibility. You can’t be in control of what happens, but you can be in control of how you react. The band plays on.

Take care of yourself. And come home soon. 

[indy-and-her-bones]

Outside the Window

It’s cold. A bitter, paralyzing, cold. The kind that freezes the whites of your eyes and stiffens your joints, sinking its icy teeth into you and refusing to let go. The kind of cold you never really get warm from. The bright sun adds a surreal layer to the pain, reflecting off the snow and blinding you without offering any warmth in return. It’s miserable. And it’s cold. 

It’s hard to believe that this frozen hellscape is the same one that I looked forward to every year when I was a kid. Could I not feel the wind biting into me? Did I not care? I have to have cared. I guess I just don’t remember.

But I can’t believe it’s all bad. I can’t, not while I’m watching my dog sit peacefully nestled in the snow like she was built for it, gazing up at the lazy snowfall above her. 

Is this deadly cold worth the winter joy that came before it? Lucky for me, I don’t really need to know. I just need a thicker sweater. 

[the-worst-alive]

9. Animals: Choose an animal. Write about it!  -Source

I’m writing about the dog that was part of my household since I got here, Finn, who left this morning to his actual owner’s family in California, after being with us for a year. 

This is a story of a puppy named Finn. He was bought by a newley wed couple, as they fell for his pricetagged breed. His fur was a deep grey, his puppy body stuffed inside. His dad dressed in camo, and his mom sought only dollar signs, and she pressed him for another dog.

He obliged, knowing full well his station, over the ocean, and under the wall of Berlin.

Finn was happy with his newfound sibling and parents, but he began to panic. He watched as they packed their bags, brought to a house he’d never seen before. They left, and took his sibling with them, claiming “The plane can only bring one”

He stayed in those four walls, and soon he had a new brother, small and brown and excitable; Jake. Together they grew, until Finn was covered in white, thick fur, and Jake was half his size. The best friends they became (and sometimes, more then friends, as they liked to shamelessly flaunt to unsuspecting humans), and he soon had a new home, and a new family.

Months passed, and another human came into the household, expanding his family. He took to her, and even though he got in trouble a lot, this new human had a soft spot for him. Yes, he got in trouble a lot more than Jake, because he had an insatiable need to eat everything. He eventually grew out of it.

He was big and fluffy, slow and awkward, and had the cutest eyes any of us could see. His favorite human, who’s name was Jayy, game him pets and love every time she saw him. He didn’t know he was a temporary resident, as he’d been there for a year, but as the days grew colder, Jayy, and Jake’s parents grew wary.

Until, one day, he had gotten his shots, and his cage, and everyone woke up in the morning. He probably thought he was going to the vet, but the humans knew better. They cried, and Jayy stayed home, not equipped to deal with her own feelings on the matter.

He and the car noisily sped away, and she and Jake both cried.

Finn doesn’t know he isn’t coming back. Jake seemingly has a sinking feeling in his heart, as his best friend won’t return.

Soon he will be with their owner’s family’s residence in California.

And Jayy will know only loss, and Jake will cry for days.

[the-worst-alive]

6. Eye Contact: Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.

Note: This will be edited sometime after I wrote it, seeing as this isn’t my best work. It’s not going on Ao3 until I’m happy with the quality, but I’m extremely tired today, and while I like the premise, I’m too tired to make it sound horribly good. I’ll reblog it from myself with it’s edited.

Theon never stared at the white and black speckled tiles as he walked the halls of Winterfell High School. He was too busy looking elsewhere; the bouncing breasts of busty ninth grade girls, talking and laughing with their friends from middle school as they walked. He began to pick them out in his mind; which ones were going to be an easy score, and which ones were going to need some coaxing. His girlfriend, Ros (or, as it would be, just a clingy beneficial friend), clung to his arm.

“Did you hear a word I’ve said?” A demanding voice broke into his casing.

“Yeah, sure,” came the distracted reply. He hadn’t, of course, but decided it was better to lie than to get criticized.

“Of course you didn’t,” Ros sniped at him in reply and he felt a tingle of annoyance rush up his spine. Theon’s locker was approaching the couple quickly, and he peeled off of his aggressor. He was thankful that Robb Stark was at the locker next to his, grabbing his books. It was lucky they were able to get their lockers close to each other this year, especially seeing as Robb was a sophomore, and Theon a senior.

Robb Stark was Theon’s closest friend in school. His father was the school’s counselor; the one who had been working on Theon’s Child Protective Services case. Theon had never been to Robb’s house for that reason, as Eddard Stark did not want himself to be taken off of Theon’s case. He had told the young Greyjoy just recently, however, that he was very close to coming up with a solution to his emotionally destructive father. Theon had pleaded to know what this solution was, but Ned wouldn’t budge, saying it was a surprise.

“Hey, stud,” Theon called playfully to his best friend. Robb looked up at him, playfully rolling his eyes. He slapped a handshake against Theon’s free hand.

“Stop calling me that,” Robb lectured, smiling. His blue eyes settled on Ros. “Shouldn’t you be in homeroom?” Ros scoffed at him, turned away dramatically, angrily skidding away on her sneakers; they both could hear her squeaking down the hall.

“What’s the latest?” Theon inquired, his fingers fumbling with his own locker, now.

“I’m kind of late for wrestling practice,” Robb replied. He didn’t step away to try to make it to his practice, though, Theon noticed. He just closed his locker and leaned against it.

“Why don’t you go then?” Theon puzzled, pulling out two aquatic science books from messy, metal confinement.

“My sister,” Robb started. The clang of Theon’s locker pushed through the collective sound of bustling students, and he twisted his lock, securing it.

“Yeah, you said she was entering Ninerdom this year,” Theon recalled. “But I didn’t see her yesterday.” He noticed this, as yesterday was the first day of the school semester. He leaned on his locker as well, facing his friend. Robb ran a hand through curly, auburn locks.

“She wasn’t feeling good, and she missed her first day,” Robb explained, exasperated. “Lucky too, at least it was only the first day. I have to wait for her here, then walk her to class,” he articulated. Theon’s trademark grin began to creep onto his face.

“I cannot wait to meet her,” he joked. Robb’s mouth was a hard line now, as, he wasn’t finding his friend’s brand of comedy amusing.

“You’d do good not to talk to her,” he blurted the words harshly, and held Theon’s gaze. Theon shrugged, his smile growing wider.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” he mused. “There are plenty of Niners to choose from, without banging my best friends sister.” He pushed himself off of the locker. “In all seriousness,” he added. Robb's anger quelled a tad, but his face was still stone.

“Robb,” a small voice was picked up, and Robb turned quickly, looking for the source. Theon found it quicker than his friend, his green eyes settling just to the left of Robb.

She was beautiful; long read hair pulled back into a long braid, with wisps of strays settled behind her ears. He observed her blouse; black lace with short sleeves, a black corset over it, covering the transparent fabric. He could only see the top of her cleavage, he noted(as he often did when looking at girls; it was as if he just could not help it), also noting the way it fell just above the top of her pants, showing the tiniest sliver of midriff. She wore black skinny jeans, and black heeled ankle boots. Her binders hung from her fingers, next to her waist.

Her eyes floated up to meet his; orbs of blue, not unlike her brother’s. They seemed to grow wide as she peered into his own green ones. A small smirk crept up his face and he pursed his lips to push it down. The redhead, looked away, cheeks flushed.

“Sansa, there you are.” Her brother turned to her, an annoyed look on his face. “You’re gonna make me miss practice.” Sansa shrugged and pulled her binders to her chest, gripping tightly, keeping no eye contact with Theon or Robb.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she snapped, embarrassed. “I can walk to class, you know.” Robb rolled his eyes and began to step down the hall.

“Well, it’s already done now.” He looked at his watch. “I would have to run to the gym to even make it.”

“I can take her,” Theon chimed in, though, he didn’t know why. Incredulous eyes bore into him and he quickly added: “Just so you don’t miss practice.” Sansa’s face was barely visible as she hiked her binders up to her neck and looked down. Robb looked at her, then looked at Theon, his face severe.He pulled Theon a couple steps over, facing away from his sister, his face so close to Theon’s, he could feel his breath.

“You know she’s my sister, right?”

Theon nodded.

“You just walk her to class, do you hear me? Nothing more or I swear to god, when I’m done with you, you won’t be having any kids.” His voice was threatening, and the elder held his gaze.

“I’ll just walk her to class,” he promised, pulling away from the huddle. He smiled a trusting smile. “No need to get worried.” Theon began to back-step toward Sansa, who was still standing behind them impatiently.

“You better,” Robb called behind him, beginning to jog away from them. Theon turned to Sansa, who was looking up at him expectantly.

“Yeah, well, let’s go,” was all the elder said. She nodded.

[thepalmsofmyhands]

#1 Outside the window

ik ben op het station en ik denk aan de nacht

maar van jou hou ik overdag

de zon mist je als je wegkruipt

‘s nachts ben ik thuis

we staan we voor de spiegel en ik laat je alle sterren in jouw ogen zien

een voorzichtig geluid

[thepalmsofmyhands]

Hoi ik doe dit groetjes

[life-in-eminor]

Love undiminished

When I felt it would swell up in me I took the seed out  and planted it under a soft mound of Earth near the ravine where our minds and bodies used to meet Because I knew it would grow and I didn’t want the love for you flourishing in me So I gave our love to mother nature hoping she would nurture it, send it back to you and in due season you would grow to love me But you never did And now my love grows by the riverside as a dogwood tree

eMinor