He promised so little and yet gave even less. He took all that she had to offer and then left her in her tattered dress. She used to love her dresses and how they’d swish and twirl She made a vow to never wear the remains of that precious little girl.
She ran away into the night and vanished into the air She learned that cooking skills provide the mighty frying pan She learned to tear the trousers she wore before anyone got the chance She learned to get away with crimes against the stupid men
it's not horrid it's not terrible it's everything it's you and her it's the tears that pour it's the people laughing it's everyone clapping for the joyous occasion the white dress the suit and the girl in tears watching her life dissapear.
POV: watching the love of your life get married to another girl and love someone else. you're never enough, you're never the one.
She was the girl with the crooked smile who had great plans, big dreams for everyone but herself - who kept change in her pocket for the old woman on the side of the road and for the child leaning over the edge of the fountain smiling at the pennies that had sunk heavy with hope along with the empty wishes they were supposed to make true. She was the girl with the copper eyes twinkling teaming with life, the girl who was too lovely, too young to die.
~ pureland flower, always twisted into someone else's creation, never of her own ~ volition, breakable eggshell, quiet and still, lifeless from pushing boundaries, ~ a color without color, lifted by the breeze, folded up neatly, no wonder why nowhere to fly. ~
I meet a woman in the story I introduce myself as a writer She introduces herself as the character I write about She's so smart I really like smart people She tells about her life She is happy to share every experience She's so beautiful She doesn't like the word beauty Beauty only makes things that come to be gone I understand it I agree with her opinion In the first paragraph, I introduce myself In that paragraph, she also invites me to enter her world I write about her She accepts my writing I write all about her She reads herself I continue to write the second paragraph She says I need to stop I ask, why? She says she is tired I ask her to rest She agrees I'm writing again And I realize She's just my imagination I miss her so much I've never done this before And I go back to write about her But I can no longer find her She is no longer in my writing I think too much about her
Indonesia, 1st March 2021 Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho