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Sarah Loves To Write Random Stuff
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I think someday it will be all gone. The glorious sunshine that outlines your curls and makes them glow. The oxygen that you take in through those plump, heart shaped lips, and the wind which whooshes through you, almost knocking the breath out of you, but only just not. And not to mention the water, the rain that sprinkles down from the sky, from the heavens, if there really is any such thing as heaven. The rain, that you love so much.
All these things that affect you, and therefore me, as well.
And not just those things ... You, yourself, too, in all your glory and all your madness and selfishness and pure, utter beauty. You one day, will be a part of the trees.
Not non-existent, not completely.
A part of The earth.
Not destroyed, not completely.
Just gone.
For me.
So, please. Don't think it's all for nothing because it isn't. All the cold and all the heat and all the air and all the beauty and music ad vibrations and people and words and every
single
little
last
thing on this
Earth
should not be worth nothing. Even the hardest things, things like you and me and what we have, and all of the above, will one day be gone, and there will be no one left to even acknowledge, or recognise, or even KNOW it all, never mind appreciate it.


Except that, wow! That was really good!

Ignorance is bliss. Aerin hates ignorant people because he wishes he was one of them.
Ignorance is the route to all problems. Aurelia hates ignorant people because she fears she's one of them.
And when Aerin's caught in the middle of his trauma and Aurelia's trying to escape from her boundaries, the two collide, and fate changes - for the better and the worse. Their differences somehow become their similarities, but everyone in this life is running out of time - some quicker than others.
A tragic story of love, life, loss and what really matters.

There are lots of things I wanted to tell you. Lots of things, for lots of time. I don't know why it took me this long to just grab a pen and a stack of paper with some envelopes and start to write.
Now that I have, it's a weird feeling. I don't feel embarrassed at the thought of it like I did before - now I think that I've reached this nomadic point of madness where feelings don't matter anymore. Besides, I'll be gone soon, and so will you. What I mean is that, to me, you'll be gone. And to you, I'll be gone.
I don't care if you won't like what I write. Or how I write. I just hope that you care about, and you understand, why I am writing.
Because I certainly don't.
I was always a sinner. And not a very popular one, unlike all the other ones. But you were never what I always was, and I wasn't sure if I should even write to you about these things, because it's no use talking to people who have a home like you do. You have . . . no idea what it's like to wish upon the same star night after night, over and over again, all your dreams being smashed and splayed out before your eyes every night. Being destroyed, and then that creating an inner world for yourself where you experience your darkest fantasies, where you are in touch with your inner demons.
I always wondered - are you within reach of your darkest fantasies? Clarissa Jade, do you even have any?
Oh, Clarissa Jade. You were the purest thing in my whole life. You were that drop of purity that touched my tar black soul whenever we came close. It's a wonder we even got that close, even though I would have liked to have come closer.

I guess some props are in order.


But yeah like I said you make it work somehow




That and also the fact that normal people dont talk like that, well most of them.
On a cheesy scale from one to ten.. It's a 6.8 (my opinion)
These won't be like whole stories. And by the way, none of the stories I've posted on Goodreads in the creative writing section are worth reading. If you want to read any of my stories you can read them from my Wattpad: www.wattpad.com/user/SarahTheColdplayer
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The following are snippets, blurbs, random exercises, poems, prologues, and things to relieve the excuse for not writing properly called Writer's Block.