I've just written my first fable and believe me, I found it nicely written. Yes, there was an edit part in between, but the fable came out very well. In 4.20 minutes the time is limited to 4.20 and is enough for a fable of this length. The fable was about 4.20 minutes and I think I wrote it well. I am going to reduce mistakes I made in the fable writing. The fable writing is still containing more type mistakes than grammatical ones. I really need to improve on this.
I am tired. It is just simply exhausting to pretend to be okay when I am anything buy okay. I am tired of holding my sorrows and pain so tight that they spill out at the worst moments. Allowing others to see what I prefer to remain hidden. I am tired of giving so much of me to others that do not understand the difficulty it entails to do so. I just wish I could tear apart the veil the lie I have created so meticulously and let you see what is the reality of my life. How the simplest of tasks are difficult and how I struggle to keep my carefully constructed world together. Some days I am tired of me.
Five months had gone by since I had last heard from him. The last conversation I remember having with him was when he asked about my new love life. I guess once he saw that I had finally moved on to find something beautiful, he figured that there was no point in him trying to stay connected in my life. For months I believe he kept me around, dangling me up and down by my feelings for him. I was always his friend to turn to and the one who would give him a pick-me-up on any given night. But when I discovered a new love, he realized that maybe he shouldn't have kept me around. I didn't have the same feelings for him that I once used to. I was happy again, and that was detrimental to him. He wanted me to be happy. He truly did. But he just never expected it to happen too soon. Five months had passed since he stopped loving me, and now six months have passed since I have stopped loving him. He shot me a text the other day, I guess just to see how my new love was going. My six month anniversary is coming up, exactly a year from the day he made me his. Crazy coincidence. A lot can happen in a year.
The fashion director gives the nod and we broach the catwalk. We step out under the lights. Life is a moral fashion show, and God is watching us under the hot, bright lights. And the crowds raise an eyebrow and make notes as we strike virtuous poses and swing around in virtuous motions. Things happen. We stumble. Curtain rods fall on our heads. But we keep walking. Step here, step there. Trying not to mimic what the other models are doing. Trying to do it how we want to do it. But we all have 2 legs and a desire for dark chocolate. We all vomit and starve ourselves before the show. We nod to one another, conscientious of what we are supposed to be conscientious of. We're well informed, misinformed, then re-informed of everything we were misinformed of. We don't know what's true. We puke. We change suits and walk back out, with practiced strides, immune to the lights. All we see are Pharisees. Where is the fashion director? Where is the judge of this show?
I feel somebody grab my hand as i stand on the precipice.
-Have hope -they say.
But there is no hope .There never can be when all i ever hear is silence and the empty sound of my own thoughts bashing against the side of my skull.
But it's alright.They're getting quieter now. Soon when my body dissents and my feet walk the line of my weak resistance,my beliefs will crumble.The last remaining pieces of my soul will fall down and crash with me.Then the dull thrumming will return.But l will be alright,for ill no longer hear it.It will be forever persistent in the hearts of those who have once loved me.Then the thrumming will turn into screams of agony as my soul burns at the sentence of satan.The screams will haunt them forever as punishment for being weak enough.For giving their heart to someone who will never return.