#writer's side

[writer-side]

Scraps: Blurbs

I wanted to go to sleep, but there have always been monsters at my bed.

[writer-side]

Scraps: Monologues And Assholes

     Things have a real funny way of coming together when you least expect it. For me, things seemed to fall into place when everything fell out of place. To be quite honest, I never understood the meaning of responsibility and to this day I still don’t really get it. I feel like it’s just something that’s designed to make people who do what they do special. Like, “oh, I got my front yard raked after looking at the leaves for the past two weeks. Check it out.” But in reality, did you stop to think about having to do that versus not doing it? Maybe it actually had some detrimental effect on your living space, like now you won’t have that wonderful fall vibe to everything. Maybe you could have left them and let them decompose for the soil, so then you wouldn’t have to use fertilizer later. There are several different things you could’ve done, was raking the leaves really that important. It doesn’t make you responsible, it just makes you active. But, activity is another beast entirely.

    I snapped out of my own monologue. My boss continued ranting to me about my responsibility to uphold company standards and how I needed to assert myself more. The guy was a proper air head, and he could’ve used a little deflating right around now. Seems I was the one who got drafted to whiff it in and proceed to talk like I had just been kicked down under with the wrath of seven kangaroo feet. His gray suit depicted his bland attitude, and he probably wore a t-shirt underneath it all that read “World’s Top Asshole”. The shined shoes told me that he had too much time on his hands, and worried too much about what others thought. His pants, perfectly ironed like his will to put you down, and then don’t even get me started on the pompous haircut.

[writer-side]

Scraps: Blurbs

The routine had become too monotonous. She had grown tired of me, and I began to grow tired of me too.

[writer-side]

Blurbs

It was moments like those that made me wonder why I ever bothered to get out of bed.

[writer-side]

Scraps: Blurbs

I've grown so tired, I have trouble telling if I'm awake or not.

[writer-side]

Scraps: Coffee Shop Sundays

Early morning coffee shop trips were an activity that my younger self cherished. Sitting down in the company of another, biting down on an iced pastry. Burning your lips on the hot drink you were given, as if your company was reminding you of the warm embrace that can be found everyday.

I used to admire the way you looked, and those Sunday mornings we spent together. You would tell me tales of greatness, of a future I had yet to grow into. I was excited, I was enthralled. But most of all, I felt love. Love for the world, love for my situation, love for you, and love for this shop.

We’ve grown older now, and I’ve become cold to the lies. Tired of the hardships I’ve faced, and the people I’ve met. Yet, I still stop every now and then at our old spot. It overwhelms me with discontent, and I miss the promise over the reality. But I still find an enjoyment in our old routine in this silly coffee shop. I still imagine us together, talking about these plans. But at the end of the day, it’s never quite the same because you’re not here anymore.

[writer-side]

Scraps: Blurbs

With every blink, He grew a little bit more tired of everything he saw.