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Literature Text
Petting your dog when you’re upset.
Smelling burning leaves on a crisp autumn day.
Sharing a secret with your first friend in kindergarten, huddled up in a corner whispering like you’re planning a murder.
Remembering a joke no one else gets in your mind.
A cup of coffee warming your hands as you sit out in the morning mist.
A paintbrush staining clean paper with abstract figures of blue, copper, and purple.
Lying back in your mother’s lap as she combs your hair.
The crackle of a warm fire as the blizzard’s winds howl outside at midnight.
Being safely curled up inside with a book as the heavens cry their sorrows.
Smelling fresh smashed grass as you roll like a whip down a hill covered in it.
The pitter patter of your bare feet on sulphurous wet pavement as you skip and sashay
through a shower of raindrops.
The breathless wonder of running until you can’t breathe and collapsing to look up at the sky in amazement.
These are among the best feelings in life.
And though they may not be much;
At least we have them.
And as rare as they are;
That makes them even better.
Smelling burning leaves on a crisp autumn day.
Sharing a secret with your first friend in kindergarten, huddled up in a corner whispering like you’re planning a murder.
Remembering a joke no one else gets in your mind.
A cup of coffee warming your hands as you sit out in the morning mist.
A paintbrush staining clean paper with abstract figures of blue, copper, and purple.
Lying back in your mother’s lap as she combs your hair.
The crackle of a warm fire as the blizzard’s winds howl outside at midnight.
Being safely curled up inside with a book as the heavens cry their sorrows.
Smelling fresh smashed grass as you roll like a whip down a hill covered in it.
The pitter patter of your bare feet on sulphurous wet pavement as you skip and sashay
through a shower of raindrops.
The breathless wonder of running until you can’t breathe and collapsing to look up at the sky in amazement.
These are among the best feelings in life.
And though they may not be much;
At least we have them.
And as rare as they are;
That makes them even better.
Literature
Voor jou
Ik wil alleen voor jou bestaan
de adem die ik adem is voor jou
hoeveel pijn je me ook doet
ik lijd alleen voor jou
elke val die ik maak
elke keer dat ik opsta
elke keer dat ik opgeef
ik doe het voor jou
Literature
Supposed to, but
You're supposed to be there for me
But you really never are
You're supposed to know me
But really you don't know anything
You're supposed to chase me when I run out of the room
But you never leave your chair
You're supposed to love me when I'm happy
But instead you bring me down
You're supposed to hug me when I cry
But instead you just hit harder
You're supposed to know when something's wrong
But instead you just make things worse
You're supposed to miss me when I'm gone
But I doubt you'd even notice
Literature
In the Mirror
She cracks the door just an inch, peering through the crack into the darkness of the room beyond. Lightning flashes through the window, illuminating vague figures standing still. Fingers twitching, mind racing, heart pounding, she pushes through the door and reaches to grab the nearest figure. The white fabric slips silently off as she touches it, revealing the chair underneath. A wry grin finds its way onto her face and she moves through the room. Dust bunnies run from her falling footsteps, jumping quickly then slowly drifting back to the floor. She slides the cloth from several pieces, a table, a couch, more chairs, a trunk, a vanity.
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