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Dear Courtney,

“My dress was soaked with the slippery wetted road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on the train 25 and the bay was bluer than the usual. The clock strikes at 12 in the afternoon. The sky was breathtakingly painted in the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.

I sat here, while the greens, I cannot take my eyes off. It was a first time for awhile, but it was always nostalgic with you here. The trees stood there, and the train moving in its monotonous pace. This time, I am thanking this train for its urgency. Maybe, he wants us to see each other again. Just you wait, Courtney. Tomorrow, we will see each other again.

It's dawn and the morning breakfast was here in front of me. It is a complete set. Just like what you like. Tea, toasted bread, egg and tomato. Ah, I thought I saw you sleeping here beside me. Am I doing it again? Wait for me, dear friend, for I will see you now.

There the trees and the mountain facing me. The scenery is telling me a story. A memory of you and me. Ah, dear friend, it is almost evening. I hope you're thinking of your friend here while you're taking a sip of your wine.

The train stopped and I am here now, Courtney. I hope this letter reaches you, dear friend.”


“She's really a writer, huh?” The nurse said while she reads me Cordelia's letter. I nodded and smiled.

“How was she?” I asked. The lump in my throat was heavy that I could not breathe.

“She's resting peacefully in the bay of Mayhem, Courtney.” The nurse then held my hand.

“Do you think she's happy?” I asked her again.

“Hon, her eyes will give you life. Of course, she is.” She kissed me on the forehead and pushed my wheel chair.

“You will have life again, Courtney. I will see you after the operation.”


My dress was soaked with the slippery wetted road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on the train 25 and the bay was bluer than the usual. The clock strikes at 12 in the afternoon. The sky was breathtakingly painted in the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.

“Thank you for your eyes.” I whispered and tears began to well up. The wind hustled and the trees hurried to drop its leaves out.

I took out my notebook and pen. I wrote how the scenery by the bay gave me comfort.

Cordelia, I hope this letter reaches you.
I hope this touches your soul. Have a great day/night
isabella Jul 21
“In the street filled with flowers/I see you today as well/Would it be possible to carry it inside me”

Flowers twine up your arms like lightly inked tattoos,
The back of your pages burn a bright image into my brain,
I see you today and I see you tomorrow,
I can almost imagine a future within your garden.

“In the park that the dawn’s moon has passed over/I now fill it with my emotions/This song is headed towards you”

The flowers are wilted in the garden, the park benches shine with frosty light,
The moon wavers in the sky and with each droplet it breaks into more pieces,
I wish my emotions were as still as the puddles on the ground,
But peace has no song, the dawn sings only for love, blooming for you.

“I hear the sound of the film/That is lit up by the moon in the night sky”

Our relationship unravels, each roll thin and transparent,
If I held it up to the sky the stars would shine through.
It’s time to move on, it’s time for another park, another walk,
Another smile, another breath, another touch, another film.

“I still wonder wonder beautiful story/Still wonder wonder best part”

I may wonder what would have happened,
I may remember the times of joy and exhilaration,
Remember the way our moon shone clear in the night sky,
It truly was a beautiful story.

“I still wander wander next story/I want to make you mine”

Our story may have been beautiful,
But the dawn follows the night just as
Each story follows another.
Will you be mine?
bess Jun 2
I am from glowing, late night campfires, from Coppertone sunscreen and colorful thread bracelets that rested across my thin wrists.

I am from the winding pavement of Riford Road, but that home isn’t what made me. I was made by the ceaseless games of capture the flag and the smoky haze of fireworks on the 4th of July, the sleepless slumber parties and the heart shaped waffles that followed the next morning.  

I am from the beaches of Lake Michigan and the sand that sparkles like millions of jewels in the sun. With our sticky hands covered in chocolate ice cream and the melodic cadence of waves crashing into shore, erasing our names that we wrote in the sand with our chubby fingers.

I am from ultra competitive poolside games of Uno, and generations of people who either can’t say no or refuse to say yes. From Betsy and the black and white pictures that cover the walls of her home to her age-old family recipe for chocolate chip cookies. From Cullen’s bookshelf that towers over even the tallest of men, each novel packed next to each other like a can of sardines. From Jack, who’s childhood torment turned me into the person I am today, a little bit tougher and a little bit stronger.

I am from the family reunions which are less of a reunion and more of a debate, every one of us desperately trying to speak the last word. From the tough, stone cold stubbornness that each of us possess like a small voice in the back of our minds egging us on.

From mantras of “It could be worse” and the “It will always get betters.”

I am from sugary cinnamon buns on Christmas morning, muddled by the laughter of all my cousins and the cheesy carols playing over the radio.

I'm from the quaint, colorful streets of Charlevoix and the shops full of salt water taffy and their wax paper wrappers that litter the ground. A melting *** of freckled Scots and dark-haired Dutchman, all with the same wide, toothy grin. From the gooey gobs of marshmallow that stain our hands late at night, mixing with a crackling fire and waves slamming against the shore, the stars above us gleaming even brighter than the light radiating from our smiles.

From jumping into ice cold swimming pools in the middle of October, my brother by my side. With our skin freckled with goosebumps and our bones chilled to the core, we splashed and laughed until our bodies were numb and our parents forced us to get out. From the lazy summer afternoons that turned into starry nights. From jumping shoulder to shoulder into the deep rivers of Montana, our laughs suffocated by the frigid water as we ricocheted downwards.

I am from the small cardboard box sitting on the musty floor of our basement, teeming with memories captured at the other end of a  camera. Sepia pictures of my grandmother when she was no more than three years old with her white parka and oil black hair, looking into the lens like she was seeing the entire world. Photographs of my mother at the same age as me, her eyes overflowing with optimism and a smile made of gold, all too similar to my own.
a longer piece.
Abbas Mar 23
They left in search of inspiration,

But peace they found instead,
Solace they set out to attain,

But heaven they found instead,
Rivers, valleys, meadows and streams,

Indeed it was a land of dreams,
Whether rolling plains or mountain peaks,

The beauty swept you off your feet,
The crisp cool air and clear blue skies,

Beauty none can realize,
With stars and galaxies above,

Indeed it was a land of love,
In the distance congregations of idle horses,

The land of giants and mystical forces,

The land of giants and mystical forces.
A trip to the magical Deosai Plains prompted me to express my appreciation for nature, but I acknowledge that no words can do nature any real justice
Donna Jan 30
Two Ravens , Daylight
Winter Sun begins to shine
Sad tears turn to joy

❤️
Inspired from a sunny winter day spotting ravens pigeons crows sparrows u name it lots of lovely nature birds , lovely scenery **
Based on getting over grief as always tryin to stay positive for my family xxxxx
Yuki Sep 2019
In this white green earth
having shared it's worth
Blessings! Peaches and honey fused
orange and mango mused
apples and grapes amused
their feelings and mine alike
when seeing the world alight
air so thin and light
eyes hopping on every sight
castles and cottage up hill
dreams growing at will
space to dance and chill
nothing to stop for, tranquil
everything standing still
except whispers of birds that echo
so close to the meadow
aligned trees like art deco
bright radiance above Czecho
reaching round white pillow
some say it’s the twin of phyllo
https://allpoetry.com/Jurina
J J Aug 2019
In the water
Our spinning coins join to
reflect a halo round the moon,

Beautifully glowing in place before the inevitable fall.
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