this might be weird to say but.. I missed my writing when i was in love. or even before, and i only dreamt of it aimlessly.
I reread an old story i wanted to pursue on here, an actual fictional romance rather than journal entries. i was only maybe 13/14 beginning it? Aside from some grammatical and spelling errors, it was actually.. good? Newly teenager belle knew her stuff i guess.
I was surprised. Where i learned to write like that? I don't know. but it was amazing to read. to feel engulfed in it all over again. the image of the storybook i wrote unfold in front of me. it beautifully swarmed my brain. it's so genuine, and pure, and just such a breath of fresh air to breathe in because no where in the writing was i afraid of what to read next, or knew a downfall. I was anticipating where it went bad because.. that's my real story. But 13/14 year old belle discovered that talent of distracting herself with romance, and it's seamlessly shown. i live vicariously through these unpublished chapters.
it was all familiar to me, nostalgic even. I mean i literally wrote it so obviously I know it, but I never realized how passionate she was, i was.
i only hope i can give that to her, i owe it to her. i don't know how or when eventually i will have that storybook love i couldn't help and still can't help but pray flourishes.
YOU ARE READING
one day i began to think
General FictionAlright, so this was formally known as lazy reads. It's no longer that. I do put short stories on here occasionally. OCCASIONALLY. But recently it's been a nice little public journal that really no one reads. What I publish is supposed to be someth...
