I'll like to think that we are all glass figures, people, whatever.
We are fragile, delicate, malleable when heated, at times we can be coolly transparent.
But the undeniable truth that we always come back to is that we can all
Under pressure- the sort that splinters pieces of wide-eyed innocence and hope, the kind of disappointment so pale, you can see it in their skin- it results into little fissures of weaknesses spidering out into **** cross-roads. Which I think we will inevitably walk on.
And suddenly, with those gaping cracks,
we are no longer quite so impervious to
the bad or the good.
Frankly, as sickeningly cliche this may sound, it is universally accepted that it is the very inside that will start to bleed into those crossroads.
So, yeah, it is the inside that counts.
And I wish I could have learnt that without cutting my hands
red and raw
on these broken shards of glass.
Hey you, isn't your soul looking gorgeous today?
How have y'all been doing? :')
The above is the beginning of my short narrative for my English assessment. It is by far one of my more gritty and raw stories.
Definitely more challenging and emotionally draining sort of writing.
Typed to: Poison & Wine- The Civil Wars
P.S My heart crumbles into little piece when I hear the beginning.
Take care, okay?