petrolandpeach

names, i realise, without faces, words and new experiences, mean nothing at all. look; our pictures never amounted to anything. we were so young then and we are so big now, but even on a good day, i'll still look at the girl next to me and hate myself for wishing her surname was different. our frozen smiles and moment-bound sincerity just keep me wondering if i can actually smile a mile wide or if it's just the exposure. i'm so scared i'll pass you one day, in a street of suburbia or utopia and not recognise you. but i'm even more scared that i've already done that, and never noticed. [but look: you taught me that things don't live forev

her name, if i remember correctly, was laura, melissa and purple. picture this; a girl stays far away from the swing, too scared to touch the sky and follow in the footsteps of wax-winged men. her mammy said the branch would give in. her friend crowns the tree with whispered words, and tells the petrified bark never to give up on itself. they learn how to spell, fumbling fingers holding fat crayons in fists, racing each oh-tee-her, el-ih-ay-ar-ning to-get-her. it doesn't matter to them that they don't get full marks even though "l-e-a-r-anne" and "d-e-c-laura-t-i-o-n" are clearly wrong. they are four and nothing's stopping them from livin

i fell into the washing machine today and i found a world where all the lost things go. i saw gatherings of lint and social events for dimes, nickels, and quarters. there were eleven shiny-now-dull buttons discarded like adverbs. i could smell the stagnant water of one thousand and three spin cycles. i didn't mind; it wasn't so bad until it got a little nostalgic. i started to remember spring mud, summer grass stains, autumn fading, winter salt-bleached jeans, and all the times i almost lost something. you think you love the smell of detergent until you find out where it goes. so i surfaced with three lonely socks, my