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Posts Tagged ‘Girls’

How could I be happy with someone who isn’t you?

How could I be happy when you’re not there to be happy too?

How could I want someone else now that we have met?

How could I go about using someone else to help me forget?

How could I be satisfied with stars now that I’ve seen the sun?

How could I want to reach the end when it’s only just begun?

How could I let you slip away when I’ve wanted you for years?

How could I ponder it all without being struck by tears?

How could I let my fate be so recklessly told?

How could I settle for steel after feasting my eyes upon gold?

How could I watch one of those fools try to steal my heart?

How could I let my dreams of you be suddenly torn apart?

How could I turn the page when I’m still stuck on your word?

How could I forget your voice—the prettiest thing I’ve heard?

How could I let myself be weak when I’ve sworn to be tough?

How could I admit that of you I haven’t had enough?

How could I submit to their smiles when they do not compare?

How could I let my eyes drift closed when I see you everywhere?

In all these questions, one word to me stands out—

If I can’t claim your love as mine, then “how?”

 

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Jill’s been waiting on a hill for long as she remembers—

She’s cold and all alone in this last week before November.

Jack is walking by and finds this aforementioned hill;

He decides to make the climb and that’s when he meets Jill.

 

Jack is nothing special, but there’s something in his eyes—

Jill is something special, but it’s never realized.

Nonetheless, Jack thinks that maybe this hill could be home—

He grins at Jill, and she forgets she was ever alone.

 

They kid around until they’re tired of their own jokiness—

He loves how her laugh bubbles out with every word he says.

Each time his gaze darts toward her, she sees and can’t help but wonder

If he, too, might be falling for this spell she’s been put under.

 

But one day Jack decides that it’d be best if he returned—

His friends are waiting down below and surely they’re concerned.

Jill, crossing her arms, is forced to swallow down her pride—

She turns her face away from him so he won’t see her cry.

 

Jack leaves the hill, but so does Jill—the latter in a huff;

She tromps her way down to the ground, cursing her own bad luck.

She hopes that she won’t ever find someone like Jack again—

A boy who seems so perfect but who’ll break her in the end.

 

Meanwhile, Jack forgot to fetch that damned old pail of water—

He climbs the hill just like he did the first day that he saw her.

Jill is at the bottom while she watches it with glee:

Jack falls down and there’s no one who’s as broken as he.

 

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           She is running, the heels of her five-inch Barbie pink stilettos click-clacking against the pavement as her legs furiously thrust forward. Her dress is torn; her heavily made-up face has become pale, and her eyes, outlined in a thick contour of black, are as wide as that of a deer caught in the headlights. When she trips on her own feet, she flings off her shoes and continues running barefoot, her neon-colored toenails gleaming like beacons in the darkness. It is a midsummer’s night, but her arms are prickled with goose bumps, and shivers tingle up her spine. She glances over her shoulder and quickens her pace, her breath coming in short but heavy intervals, making it seem like she is gasping for oxygen. The air smells strongly of drink; she can still taste the alcohol that had passed over her tongue a just a short while ago. At this moment, however, she is not overtaken by the effects of drink, for the adrenaline pumping within her seemed to have beaten out all other sensations in her body. Her heartbeat is flying; she looks behind her once more, her eyes searching for something in the night. Perhaps she imagines it, but for one terrifying second, she catches sight of a figure in the shadows—a moving outline blacker than the surrounding gloom. She begins to tremble. Her bottom lip quivers, and a chilling scream escapes her throat. Her eyes dart desperately toward the several unlit mansions along the road, but no help comes. She is alone.

            Except—she’s not.

            Her body tenses as something sharp bounces off the back of her head. It lands behind her, and she stops to see what it was: one of her own hot pink stiletto shoes. A warm trickle of blood oozes down onto her neck, which is suddenly grasped by ice-cold fingers. They wrap around her tightly, sending her into an oblivion darker than the shades of night. The last thing she hears is a raspy, all-too-familiar whisper:

            “I have you now.”

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       She was so young—just a little girl, not even on the verge of womanhood. She was at that age where she was supposed to be preoccupied only with having fun and getting outside to discover the world. Her mother encouraged her to do so, for she knew that childhood doesn’t last and should be enjoyed while it can. She bought her daughter a variety of toys and introduced her to all the other children in the neighborhood in attempt to keep her entertained. The daughter politely obliged and was grateful for all she had, but in truth she was only interested in one thing: growing up.

       The little girl wanted to become a lady, she said, with proper manners and elbow-length gloves, just as she had seen in black-and-white movies. She wanted to drink tea and gossip—to dance in ballrooms with the hem of her dress flowing out beneath her. The prospect of handsome young gentlemen whispering gallant nothings into her ear excited her and caused her to seek out potential suitors in her circle of friends from the neighborhood. In her dreams, she was a sought-after member of gentility, just like the heroines of films of the past.

       Her mother knew that such old-fashioned ways did not exist anymore, but she saw the symbolism in her daughter’s wishes: a desire to leave childhood as quickly as possible. Soon she would be wearing lipstick and having boyfriends—she would be breaking countless rules and countless hearts, including those of her parents. The future wasn’t too distant; in just a matter of years, the little girl wouldn’t be so little anymore. True, she would never be a proper young lady of the past, but the venture into womanhood was inevitable. Her mother just wished it wouldn’t come so quickly. Because she, like her daughter, had waved away her childhood, and now she regretted it more than anything. She knew the glamour of becoming an adult was fleeting, and she feared that her daughter would make the same realization when it was too late and childhood had already slipped away.

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