I was warm, wholehearted laughter,
unexpected, five hour long phone calls,
pale pink bubblegum, blown completely out of proportion.
He was bright beckoning grins,
baby blue measuring tape,
late night stolen kisses under the light of a thousand stars and one moon.
We were adjacent metal swings,
shared strawberry milkshakes,
homemade quilts of years passed, strung together with grace.
We were happy.
We were love.
I was intricately shattered hand-held mirrors,
deep purple shadows underneath sharply bloodshot sets of eyes,
3 am unconscious screams;
mouth covered by the stale hands of the monsters under the bed.
He was thin strands of leftover thread wound through serrated pins and needles,
unforgivingly loud silences,
countless moments of oblivion;
weighing down those beneath him, those who held up his pedestal.
We were early Monday morning bus rides across town,
skipped history classes and unexcused tardies,
shards of broken CD’s;
still echoing the whispers of misplaced intimacy.
We were not happy.
We were love.
I was unforgettable foreign lip locks,
four shot glasses overfilled with the regrets of tomorrow morning,
pounding ear drums;
alive to the rhythms of paralyzing punk rock music.
He was flirtatious smiles at half-dressed girls;
selfish excuses to keep his train of thought off her solitary track,
blacked out sunglasses;
hiding from his own identity.
a flock of geese heading south.
We were accidental eye contact,
generous donors of sly, green, envious stares,
marshmallows roasting over vastly open fires.
We were happy.
We were love.
I am lukewarm cups of unsweetened tea,
forced dimples embellishing the works of fiction that rest on the faces of broken angels,
4 am sobs into feather-stuffed pillows, deeply soaked with yesterday’s lies
and tomorrow’s dark secrets.
I am crumpled up candy wrappers,
memorized photographs of disregarded memories,
steep, never ending mountainsides;
fatally slippery with hidden black ice.
He is forgotten voicemails,
torn-up letters,
a road block.
He is happy and I am not.
But I am one thing;
I am love.
Zetetic separator

—Ellie is a dedicated student and athlete at Hudson High School, but is a passionate writer in every place that she sets foot. She has been published in multiple writing compilations such as Creative Communications. Ellie has also been published in her high school’s writing magazine, The Bubble, which displays the highest quality writing from the student body at Hudson High School. She will be graduating with the class of 2018 and hopes to continue writing for the rest of her life, as well as study forensic chemistry and computer engineering.

2 Responses

  1. Marj Adler
    at · Reply

    So proud to see you are still writing so well!
    xoxo. Abuela Marj

  2. *clears throat* is this thing on? | the girl who wrote
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